


our happy ending

by sanetoshiapologist



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cheating, Childhood Friends, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friendship/Love, Humor, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Prom, Romance, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-12
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2017-12-19 06:39:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 60,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/880617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanetoshiapologist/pseuds/sanetoshiapologist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Gilbert Beilschmidt finds himself threatened with expulsion for his less-than-satisfactory grades, he reluctantly accepts the offer of being tutored and joining the cursed Oyster Club- a group led by the school's happy-go-lucky art teacher and ridden with the school's motley crew of delinquents. Needless to say, he isn't terribly thrilled, but his outlook changes when he crosses paths with childhood friend Elizaveta Héderváry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_The two children sat in the lush meadow dotted with the sprawling hues of springtime, laughing as they plucked dandelions from the grass and blew the light seeds into the air. The sky was a gorgeous blue, with only a couple of puffy white clouds floating hazily in the distance._

_The boy finished weaving a wreath of violet and cobalt wildflowers, grinning widely a_ _s he placed it in his best friend's hair. She giggled, securing it on her head with her stubby fingers, before leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. "Thanks, Gil. It's so pretty." S_ _he leaned her head on his shoulder, watching as a monarch butterfly fluttered past._

_"Hey, Liz..."_

_"What is it?"_

_"When we're all grown-up...do you think that we could...get married?"_

_"You want me to marry you?" She pondered this for a moment. "Well...okay."_

_The toddlers smiled shyly at one another, and he quickly fashioned two rings out of dandelion stalks, placing one in her open palm. "We'll have to make a promise, then."_

_"What kind of promise?"_

_He inhaled deeply, lacing his fingers through hers. "Okay...I, Gilbert, swear to marry Elizaveta once I'm old enough."_

_"I, Elizaveta, swear to marry Gilbert once I'm old enough," she echoed breathlessly._

_"So that's it," he sighed, easing onto his back and pulling her down with him, so all they could see was the canvas of blue. "We can never ever break this promise, okay? We're gonna have a fairytale ending."_

* * *

Gilbert Beilschmidt groaned, banging his head repeatedly against his desk. Another flunked history test. And most likely a D for the semester.

God, he really hated school.

His friend Antonio leaned over to glance at his paper. "Another one? _Lo siento,_ _amigo_."

"Can you stop throwing random Spanish into our conversations? It makes my brain hurt," he huffed. "And don't even think about giving me another lecture, Tony."

Antonio frowned. "You read my mind. _Pero_ -"

"What the hell did I just say? And please don't mention Ludwig right now— I don't need to hear it," Gil snapped, before groaning and slapping his forehead. "Oh my God, I'm so screwed."

"Mr. Beilschmidt!" the teacher said sharply, having finished handing out the graded tests. She glowered at him through her horn-rimmed spectacles. "Is there something you would like to share with the class?"

"No, ma'am," Gilbert mumbled, staring pointedly at his desk. As soon as she turned back to the blackboard and continued with the lesson, he shot her an icy glare. "Bitch."

* * *

Elizaveta tapped her pencil against her chin as the teacher droned on and on about the Protestant Reformation, jotting down notes with unrivaled fervor. As the student council's secretary, second chair cellist in the school's reputable orchestra, and star player on her field hockey team, she had to do everything she could to maintain her reputation in the school's social hierarchy, including pretending to pay attention to their teacher's boring lectures. Who knew popularity could be this demanding?

Her eyes flickered to the chattering boys sitting a couple of seats to her left. Couldn't they at least make an effort to conceal their whispers? It was like they were _trying_ to be loud.

"Elizaveta?"

She snapped back to attention. "Yes, ma'am?"

"Did you hear what I just said?"

"Um...sorry. I sort of spaced out."

The teacher sighed. "I said that Principal Vargas wants you to see him during one of your free periods. He didn't give me any details, but he said that he had something important to discuss with you."

Liz gulped, wracking her brain for any missteps she may have made recently, but coming up with nothing. Her test scores never fell below an A-, and as far as she remembered, she had had perfect attendance since the beginning of tenth grade, was always punctual, typically paid attention in class, and had never skipped field hockey practice or orchestra rehearsal. So could possibly be wrong? "Understood."

"Excellent. Class dismissed!"

* * *

Liz creaked open the door to the principal's office with great trepidation, trying not to look as terrified as she felt. "Excuse me? My name is Elizaveta Héderváry. Mr. Vargas wanted to see me?" she choked out, blanching at the sight of the bespectacled secretary clacking away at her desk.

"Yes, he informed me. Right this way, Ms. Héderváry," the woman said, beckoning her over with a crimson-colored talon.

Liz shuffled towards the office in the corner, gingerly rapping her knuckles against the door. "Come in," Mr. Vargas called out cheerfully.

Okay, he didn't _sound_ angry. So whatever she'd done couldn't have been that horrible, right? All she had to do was apologize and quietly await judgment.

Plucking up every ounce of her courage, Liz opened the door, shocked to see the enormous smile on Mr. Vargas' face. It was her first time ever meeting him in his office, and she was struck by just how _casual_ he was; his desk was scattered with messy documents, photos, and mementos from students: a porcelain dolphin emblazoned with a sparkly 'Cancun', a plastic apple dated from 1989, a tiny statue of a stack of books, among other little trinkets and ornaments. A miniature basketball hoop hung from the bulletin board crowded with schedules, announcements, and scrawled-on Post-It reminders.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Vargas," she said stiffly. "How are you today?"

He laughed, beaming at her. "No need to be so anxious, my dear. You're not in trouble, no, no not at all! Quite the contrary, actually. I have some wonderful news for you, Ms. Héderváry."

"Um...oh...so that's all it is?" Sheer relief washed over her.

"Of course. I wouldn't joke around like that," he assured her, before quickly growing solemn.

"So, Ms. Héderváry...we have a student. He's been failing most of his classes, getting into fights, receiving detentions on a daily basis, so on and so forth. And, I hate to say this, but if this sort of behavior goes on for much longer, he _will_ be expelled. The administration thought that if he had a role model to get him back on track and tutor him occasionally, things might start to look up for him." He smiled wearily at her. "You're running the Oyster Club with Ms. Sofia Braginski, right? And the first meeting is this afternoon?"

She nodded hastily. All she had to do was tutor some punk? Piece of cake.

"I'll give him the option of joining that for a bit of extra credit. So, once school's over, I'll call him to the office and talk to him. I'm fairly certain he'll take the option of joining the club— most of the students have. You'll meet him there, introduce yourself, etc." He frowned, cocking his head to the side. "Is that okay with you? I don't want to force you into anything—"

"No, no, it's alright. I'll do it. No harm in helping out the student body," she forced out in a cheery voice.

"Great. I knew I could count on you!" He winked at her, reaching out to shake her hand. "Thank you so much for your help, Ms. Héderváry— I'll be sure to put in a good word for you when college application time rolls around next year!"

Well, staying on the administration's good side was never a bad thing.

Feeling immensely satisfied with herself, she thanked him and turned around to leave, before realizing that, out of relief, she had neglected to ask the most important question. "Sorry, just one more thing. Who exactly am I tutoring?"

* * *

"Gilbert Beilschmidt to the office, Gilbert Beilschmidt to the principal's office."

Gil groaned after stepping out of his last period classroom and hearing the announcement. Just what he needed— the icing on the cake for his spectacularly shitty day. He wondered if the old geezer had found out about his brief tussle with one of the soccer players the other day, or if he was gonna give him another detention for some far-fetched reason.

Fantastic. Just fucking fantastic.

Francis frowned at him, clucking his tongue. "What on earth happened this time, Gilbert?"

"Nothing _too_ serious," he retorted, rolling his eyes. "At least, nothing that should get me suspended or something dumb like that. Just tell Coach I'm gonna be late. Later, Francey-pants."

He stormed away before his friend could protest, sighing as he glanced at his watch. His teammates would probably clobber him to death for being late once the geezer finally finished shaking his fist at him, especially that jackass _Roderich_.

Gil had barely reached the office when the door was shoved open, a gawky woman with a clipboard staring back at him. "Gilbert Beilschmidt?" she asked sharply, her pen poised above the paper.

Great, he was _famous_ now. Well, that was he got for selling his soul to popularity.

"Yeah, the principal wanted to see me," he mumbled. "What does he want?"

"You'll have to see." She grabbed him by the forearm and dragged him over to Mr. Vargas' office, shoving him inside and slamming the door shut behind him.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Beilschmidt." Mr. Vargas gave him a strained smile. "How are you today?"

* * *

"Gilbert Beilschmidt?" she spluttered, trying to contain her surprise. " _That_ Gilbert Beilschmidt? You want me to tutor _him_? B-But-"

Her heart contracted at the thought of him. He was the _last_ punk she wanted to get involved with, and that was saying a lot, considering she'd have to deal with a dozen of them as the advisor to the Oyster Club. Oh God, she would have preferred _anyone_ else; even that pyro sophomore chick seemed like a saint compared to _him_.

Liz pinched her arm and squeezed her eyes shut, praying that she was dreaming. However, when she opened her eyes, she was still met with the baffled face of the school principal, a fading red splotch on her arm, and bitter, harsh reality. Was it too late to change her mind?

"Is there anything wrong, Ms. Héderváry?" Mr. Vargas' tone was light, inquisitive. He was testing her, goddammit!

She hesitated, but her mouth seemed to move of its own accord. "No, there isn't a problem. I'll do it." _Wait, what?_

Liz wanted to slap herself; she should have said no when she still had the chance! Screw that ass-kissing side of her that couldn't bear letting her principal down, not to mention that tantalizing prospect of him writing a recommendation for her application to Dartmouth. Why did she have to be such a goddamn fruitcake?

* * *

"Expulsion?" Gil gasped. "Are you serious?" He could practically feel the disappointment radiating off Mr. Vargas, who was probably thinking of his brother Ludwig, the school's perfect student council president/star debater/all-around genius, and wondering what exactly had gone wrong.

"If you continue with this behavior, I'm afraid that that's what's going to happen, Mr. Beilschmidt." Mr. Vargas sighed. "But if you're willing to make amends...I have an offer to make, young man."

Gil glowered at him. "And that would be...?"

Mr. Vargas was unfazed. "I've already talked to a student that has agreed to be your tutor. She's a very smart and considerate young lady, and I trust you two will get along just fine. You'll meet a few days a week for a couple of hours to ask her questions about the curriculum and have her help with your work."

"What about football practice! How am I supposed to play if I'm being _tutored_?"

"As for that...well, I've already spoken to your coach," Mr. Vargas said grimly. "He agreed with me, upon seeing your progress reports, that it was better for you to leave the team. But don't worry: if your grades pick up, he'll be glad to let you rejoin for your senior year."

"You can't just kick me off the team!" Gil protested, slapping a hand down on one of the chair's armrests.

"Nothing will change my mind, Mr. Beilschmidt. Try all you want, but you'll only be wasting your time. You're going to be tutored, and unless your grades start looking up, you're not allowed to rejoin the team or any other non-academic extracurricular activities. That's my final decision," the principal said sharply, watching as the boy slouched even further down in his seat. "However, there's one exception."

"Yeah?" Gil grunted, uninterested. Man, he was really pissed. An F in history, his less-than-satisfactory progress report, a meeting with his least favorite geezer, and now he had to quit the only thing that made school worthwhile? He might as well drop out; even flipping burgers at the local fast food joint would be preferable to _this_.

"The Oyster Club. If you join, I can offer you a bit of extra credit." The principal tapped his pencil on the surface of his desk.

"The Oyster Club? What the hell is that?" he snarled, interest piqued nonetheless. He really _could_ use the extra credit.

"After school, every day...hmm, how should I put this?" Mr. Vargas pondered it for a moment. "Troublemakers from every grade are invited to meet up, discuss their personal issues, participate in charity events, and learn how to become proper members of society. That's what it is, in a nutshell. It's a new addition to the school, just approved by the administration, so the student council is sending one of their members to advise it and determine whether or not it's effective. Your new tutor just happens to be that person, so, after the meetings, you two can have your cozy tutoring sessions."

He paused. "It's an excellent deal, Mr. Beilschmidt. I see no reason for you to turn me down."

Gilbert had to admit that the old sot was right: it _was_ a decent deal, considering how much trouble he had caused the past three years. "Alright, fine. I'll join your stupid club."

* * *

She had watched one of his football games once, out of curiosity, even though she wasn't particularly interested in the sport. He was the quarterback, according to Lili, who, much to her dismay, seemed to revere the asshole, but even she had to admit he was talented. Gilbert was nimble on his feet, seemed to get along with his teammates reasonably well, and during every moment he was on the field, his face would brighten like she hadn't seen in ages.

She had felt an overwhelming wave of nostalgia as she watched him score a touchdown, but had squashed it immediately. What was wrong with her?

Now that she was officially his tutor, their relationship would be entirely forced, unwanted, and exclusively business-like. There was no way she'd give him the satisfaction of backing down.

Her lips curled in a triumphant smirk. _Bring it on, Beilschmidt._


	2. Chapter 2

Gil glanced at the index card the secretary had handed him when exiting the office. Room 206. Looked like he was here.

When he walked inside, the group of bored students all turned to look irritably up at him. After they had finished scrutinizing the poor newcomer, they, much to his relief, all went back to doing whatever they had been doing previously. He gingerly sat down next to a peacefully dozing senior with shoulder-length shaggy brown hair, scooting as far away from him as possible.

Less than a minute after he had taken a seat, the door swung open, a young woman with short white blonde hair bouncing into the room. "Good afternoon, everyone!"

Everyone in the room grumbled a greeting. She gave them all one last dazzling smile, before poking her head back out the door and shouting, "Elizaveta, dear! Hurry up!"

Gil froze. Elizaveta? As in Elizaveta Héderváry? The goody-two-shoes student council secretary? Why would _she_ be in a club for delinquents? Unless there was some other Elizaveta that he didn't know about.

He held onto this small sliver of hope, his eyes locked onto the door.

But, as usual, luck wasn't in his favor. The last person he had ever wanted to see practically sulked into the room, carrying a manila folder, a stack of loose leaf, and a plastic box filled with pencils in varying states of shabbiness. She deposited the items onto the teacher's desk with a thunk, before pulling a desk chair up to one of the counters.

The teacher leaned against the teacher's desk and clapped her hands enthusiastically. "Alright, why don't we get started?"

Gil snuck a look at Elizaveta, watching her stare pointedly at a wad of gum plastered onto the counter. Unfortunately, however, she chose that moment to glance up, scowling at him when she caught him looking at her. They locked eyes for a good thirty seconds, before her gaze flitted away and she returned to picking at her nails.

"Hello, everyone!" the woman chirped. "I'm Ms. Braginski, the art teacher for the freshmen and sophomores. This is my first year teaching at this school, so it's a pleasure to meet you all. I recognize some of you from my classes, but since we're rather spread out across the grades, I thought we should introduce ourselves in a fun and memorable way. Elizaveta, dear, please pass out the paper and pencils."

Elizaveta nodded curtly, standing up and padding to the desk. Beginning her dreary shuffle around the room, she slapped a pencil and sheet of paper down onto the sleeping boy's desk, waking him up. "Huh, what?" he mumbled groggily. What's goin' on?"

No one paid him any mind.

Her eyes flickered away when she passed Gil the materials, before skulking back to the front of the room.

"Elizaveta is the advisor of the club. As this is the first year our school's had something like this, the student council wanted to send someone to make sure everything runs smoothly." Ms. Braginski beamed at the girl, but Gil wasn't paying attention.

Didn't Mr. Vargas say that the advisor of the club was going to be his tutor? So that meant—

Elizaveta Héderváry was his tutor? Of all the smart-ass girls in the school it could have been, it just _had_ to be her?

Today really wasn't going his way.

"So, as an introduction activity, since I'm not familiar with most of you, I'd like you all to write three things about yourself on the piece of paper, fold it in half, and pass it to me. I'll read them out loud, and we'll all guess who it is!"

Gil stared blankly down at his sheet of paper. He thought about it for a moment, before leaning forward, writing in his trademark scrawl. _1\. My favorite sport is football. 2. I hate Gatorade. 3. Glee is the worst TV show ever known to man._

Ms. Braginski smiled angelically. "Why don't you join in too, Elizaveta? Most of our club members don't know you very well either."

Elizaveta shrugged, grabbing a piece of paper and a pencil for herself. Moments later, she had immersed herself in scribbling on the loose-leaf.

Once the pencil scratches had subsided, Elizaveta was sent to collect the folded papers. Smoothing down the crinkles in her skirt, Ms. Braginski gave a little clearing of her throat. "Now, before we begin, why don't we say our names and what grade we're in? Natalya, let's start with you."

There was a scuffling noise as everyone turned to look at the girl with dirty blonde hair and violet eyes decked out in various goth paraphernalia. She sat slouched in her seat, obviously disconcerted by the overwhelming amount of attention, idly shuffling a deck of cards. Gilbert recognized her as Natalya Braginski, the pyrotechnic chick whom everyone avoided like the plague. He had heard rumors that she had been locked up in a juvenile detention center during her middle school years as a result of torching a couple of billboards and her neighbor's mailbox.

Wait...Braginski? Those two were _related_?

"Natalya Braginski. Sophomore," she muttered darkly.

A stocky blonde with bushy eyebrows and a permanent scowl glanced around the room. "Arthur Kirkland. I'm a senior," he said, in a thick British accent.

A younger student with disheveled dirty blonde hair let out an obnoxious whoop, glasses slipping slowly off the bridge of his nose. "Alfred Jones. Sophomore," he declared, through a mouthful of potato chips. "The stupid-looking dude who just said his name is my cousin."

Arthur shot him an icy glare, crossing his arms.

Elizaveta twirled a strand of chestnut between her fingers, staring pointedly at the tiled floor. "Elizaveta Héderváry. Junior."

A green-eyed boy ran his fingers lovingly through his majestic mane of golden hair, flashing a peace sign. "Feliks Łukasiewicz, broski. Senior and last year's prom king."

"Sadiq Annan. Freshman," a buff-looking brunette said gruffly, his chin dotted with stubble. Most peculiarly, he was wearing sunglasses inside.

"Lovino Vargas here," a dark-haired boy said flatly, raising his hand in lazy salute. "I'm a junior."

The once-sleeping boy beside Gil mumbled sleepily, yawning he said, "Her-Her-Heracles Karpusi...I'm a freshman."

Gilbert blinked owlishly, before realizing that all eyes were on him. He cleared his throat, flustered. "Uh, yeah. Gilbert Beilschmidt. The awesome junior."

"That's everyone, isn't it? Wonderful!" Ms. Braginski trilled, sifting through the pile of papers on the desk, closing her eyes as she snatched one up. She squinted to read the tiny print, before saying in a clear voice. " '1. I'm a model. 2. My favorite quote is from Coco Chanel- 'a girl must be two things: classy and fabulous.' 3. My mother is a Polish fashion designer.' "

All eyes were on Feliks within moments. He was the only one in the room who could possibly be a model and care so much about Coco Chanel.

"Łukasiewicz," Arthur finally grunted, biting into a Ritz cracker.

"Excellent job, Arthur," Ms. Braginski warbled, grabbing another paper and flattening it. "Alright...let's see...'1. I like Marvel comics. 2. Hamburgers are my favorite food. 3. I cried at the end of Toy Story 3.'...?"

He snickered. "Is it Elizaveta?"

"Seems valid," Natalya murmured.

Elizaveta turned around in her seat to roll her eyes at him. "It's Alfred, you dumbass."

"Language, Elizaveta," Ms. Braginski chided weakly.

Alfred pouted, before pointing an indignant finger at Elizaveta. "Hey, how did you guess? My plan was entirely foolproof!"

Arthur scowled, picking at his nails. "No, it bloody wasn't, you nitwit."

Alfred stuck his tongue out at him. "Oh, go screw yourself. Just because you've got a huge pole shoved up your ass doesn't mean you gotta take it out on everyone."

"I beg your pardon—"

Elizaveta gave them a stare that could curdle milk, silencing them immediately. "There's a Marvel comic sticking out of your bag. Problem solved?"

"Aren't you a right little ray of sunshine?" Natalya grumbled under her breath.

"Like you're one to talk," she retorted.

Ms. Braginski watched helplessly as her irked club members snapped at one another, but managed to come back to her senses, hastily picking up another piece of paper. "Okay, everyone. '1. You're all tomato bastards,'" she choked out with some difficulty, "'2. Antonio Carriedo is a pimp. 3. Don't you dare squish my cheeks.'"

"I'm honestly at a loss," Feliks remarked.

"Antonio is _not_ a pimp," Gil said hotly, fiercely loyal to his best friend.

"I'd think twice about that," Arthur murmured, earning himself a murderous glare.

Meanwhile, Elizaveta was pondering. "Tomato bastards? Where have I heard that before...?"

She snapped her fingers. "Lovino! Right, I remember that!"

"Remember what?" Alfred asked, innocuously enough.

"Nothing," Lovino said hastily. "Moving right along."

Relieved that nothing too terrible had happened, Ms. Braginski complied. "Um...okay...'1. I. 2. Hate. 3. Gilbert Beilschmidt.'...?"

No one could think of anything snarky to say to that.

Gil's tongue seemed to be glued to the roof of his mouth, and no matter what he tried to tell himself to pry it away, that telltale feeling of guilt swamped him over and over again. After all was said and done, it could only be one person: the girl he had done everything he could to forget.

And what made it worse was that her hatred was completely justified.

He had left her behind, insulted her behind her back. She was a nerd. She was a goody-two-shoes. She didn't understand him. She was stupid. He didn't know what he was thinking, befriending such a dork.

He knew he regretted it, but how could he apologize now, five years after it had happened? And so, the only coping mechanism he had left was denial; it was the nature of things, for friendships to break and never mend, and if his twelve year-old self had decided to turn on her, then that was the harsh reality. No turning it around. He couldn't go back and time and change how it fell apart.

It wasn't _really_ his fault.

He wanted to hate her. He really did.

But how could he?

"It's Elizaveta," he choked out, steeling himself to look at her. Her head was down, curtain of chestnut hair hanging in front of her darkened face.

He wondered what was going through her mind. Hate, like she had so openly proclaimed? Disgust? Regret?

Nobody said a word. Not even Ms. Braginski could bring herself to break the ice.

Once upon a time, she told him everything without restraint. Not a thing about her was a surprise to him. She told him her secrets, and he told her his. They had each other memorized. But now, he couldn't even fathom how much she had changed since then. Elizaveta Héderváry was nothing but an enigma to him now, a silhouette on her student council-mounted pedestal, a star far above him.

She hated him. Elizaveta Héderváry hated him.

He told himself that he didn't care, shrugging it off. So what? They had barely spoken two coherent sentences to one another through the course of their high school career beyond partnering for labs. They sat at opposite ends of the cafeteria, averted their eyes when passing by in the hallway, timed study halls and electives to avoid the other.

She wasn't a part of his life anymore.

But of course, as always, he couldn't help but think back to that promise, made by two idealistic children, all of those years ago.


	3. Chapter 3

_A little girl hid behind her mother's legs, peering anxiously around them at a tall man and a boy that was about her age._

_"And this is your daughter Elizaveta? She's a beautiful girl already."_

_"And that's your son Gilbert, isn't it? Say hello to the nice boy, Lizzy."_

_She nodded shyly, giving the boy a timid wave. "Hi."_

_The boy gave her a brilliant smile, the corner of his cheek crinkling into a dimple, scarlet eyes radiant and sparkling in the midday sunshine. It was almost impossible to look away from._

_And that was the moment when her heart had been won._

_From that day on, the two children did everything with each other without fail. Playing in the sandbox. Drawing messy stick figure portraits of each other with brightly-colored crayons. Sharing sandwiches and carrot sticks at lunch. Holding hands as they sat on the tire swing in Liz's backyard. Cutting and pasting pictures for art projects. Toasting marshmallows over candles. Always together._

_Gil didn't care what they thought at first. Liz was his best friend, and some stupid rumors wasn't going to take her away from him. She smiled when he couldn't, laughed at his lame jokes even when he messed up the punch line, cheered him up when he was down, and listened to anything he had to tell her. In middle school, when things got tough and Gil's dad lost his job, she walked him home every day and brought him homemade casseroles from her mother. She was his shoulder to cry on, his way of venting his feelings. And she never complained about it. Not once._

_Even after his mother committed suicide when he was in sixth grade and the burden on his fragile shoulders increased ten-fold, she was still there. She squeezed his hand reassuringly when he needed it. They would sit on the floor of his apartment together, and she would just stay quiet as he let out a chain of curses at the world. He would sob and sob and sob, and she would let him put his head on her lap, and she would gently stroke his hair, murmuring that everything would be alright. She was the only thing that kept him together during that difficult time when he wanted nothing more than to die._

_When he wanted to collapse and cry and scream and complain, she was there. Always there. A comforting presence. His guardian angel._

_But then Liz caught the flu and was forced to stay in bed for an entire week. When she called him one afternoon to explain what had happened, her voice was so hoarse and scratchy that he told her to save her voice and not to worry about him. Her mother wouldn't let him visit her, either._

_So he walked to school alone, head down. He didn't speak to anyone. He sat in the corner of the lunchroom, eating a sandwich that her mother had dropped off at her house. Gil thought of how they would be trading pretzels, or grapes, or Twinkies. How they would try to make jokes and pretend that nothing was wrong._

_A boy who he vaguely recognized as being popular jock approached his table, smiling warmly. "Hey. You're Gilbert, right?"_

_He nodded, before turning back to his turkey and cheese sandwich._

_"What's up with Elizaveta? I haven't seen her in a while."_

_Gil desperately wished that the boy would go away and leave him alone. "Sick," he mumbled._

_"Oh, that's too bad." From the airy tone of the boy's voice, Gil could tell that he really didn't feel any sympathy for her. "So, wanna sit with us today? I hate to see you sitting alone like that."_

_He wanted no part of anyone's pity, but ended up shrugging and picking up his lunchbox, following the boy to his table of loudly chatting friends. The boys were swatting each other playfully on their shoulders, masticating their lunches into a thick paste, making raunchy jokes and quoting YouTube videos. Laughing. Smiling._

_"Hey, guys." The boy gestured to Gil. "Remember Gil from our class? Well, since his girlfriend isn't here today, I invited him to sit with us. That okay?"_

_"Oh, so you're that guy?" a guy with a smirking face pointed his fork towards him. "What happened to the chick?"_

_He took the small space between the boys that was not yet vacant. "She has the flu."_

_"So why the hell are you friends with the dork?"_

_"From what my girlfriend told me, she doesn't even wear a bra."_

_"Seriously?"_

_"And did you hear that her mom was fifteen when she was born? What a slut."_

_"That sure explains a lot."_

_Gil wanted desperately to leave the table and to yell at them for talking about his best friend that way, but he found himself nodding and mumbling in agreement anyways._

What the hell am I doing?

_"Hey, Gil. If you don't want to be friends with her, you could just hang out with us."_

_"Yeah, that would be okay with me. You're a pretty cool guy."_

_"So what do you say, Gil? All you have to do is ignore the bitch and you're in."_

_He thought about her gorgeous smile. The way that she was always there for him. The way that she was the only reason why he still had the will to keep on living. The way that her calm presence comforted him and pulled him through._

_Gil pushed it away. The memories of their time together. Holding hands. Laughing. Telling jokes. Going through their childhood together. Surviving middle school. He erased the future that he had planned for the two of them— dating all throughout high school, watching each other's sports games, going to prom together, graduating college, getting married, having children, pursuing their dreams, growing old together. At that moment, he tried to forget it all._

_He gave her up for popularity. He gave her up to become an arrogant jock, a heartbreaker, the one who dated the prettiest girls in the school._

_He tried desperately to drill the thought into his mind. It was over. Boys and girls weren't allowed to hang out in middle school. You hung out with your gender, your exclusive friend circles. It just couldn't be. Elizaveta hadn't grown up fast enough. She wasn't good enough for him._

_Elizaveta was stupid. Elizaveta pitied him. Elizaveta didn't actually want to be his friend. Elizaveta only stuck around him because he was pathetic and clingy. Elizaveta wasn't his friend. Elizaveta wasn't needed. Elizaveta was stupid...the thoughts raced through-out his mind until it became a sort of internal chant._

_So he would be independent. He could do without her. He didn't need her help. He didn't need her pity._

_The day that she came back from her week of being sick, Gil ignored her. When she opened her mouth to greet him in the school hallways, he merely brushed past her to meet the boys that had gathered around his science classroom. She gave him a quizzical look, before looking down at the ground, obviously hurt. He ignored the pang in his heart and grinned at his new friends._

_He barely glanced at the table where the two of them used to sit, shoving his way through his sea of classmates to get to where the boys were waiting. As he laughed, joked, and chatted with them, he couldn't help but look at where she sat alone. Her head was down and she was poking at her salad with the tip of her fork. He shook it off and continued to rant about how her clothes were hand-me-downs, about how she didn't have anyone to hang out with, how she didn't have a boyfriend, how she was the teacher's pet and such a kiss-up. He and his new friends bashed her in every way possible, laughing and laughing at things he didn't want to laugh at._

_After a week of this, she grabbed onto his wrist before he could board the bus on a rainy day. "Gil! I need to talk to you!"_

_He let out a huff, before snarling, "What do you want?"_

_"Is that all you can say to me?" She stomped her foot in a muddy puddle, splashing murky water all over her rain coat. "After you've been ignoring me all this time? What the hell is wrong with you?"_

_"What do you mean by that?" He crossed his arms, glaring at her icily. "I made new friends. What's so wrong about that!"_

_"I-I—" she stammered, her eyes wide and glistening with tears. She cowered beneath her pink umbrella, forehead glistening with raindrops._

_"I just think we shouldn't be friends anymore," he continued, giving her a cold look. "You're a girl. I'm a guy. That's not the way it works. And I know you never wanted to be my friend in the first place. You were only feeling sorry for me, right? Well, I don't really need that crap anymore."_

_He turned his back on her and, without feeling any regret, walked to his bus, where the bus driver was impatiently waiting._

_"But what about all the time we spent together? I helped you, didn't I? You cried, and I helped you! We did everything together! And now you're just going to throw that all away? Gil...Gil, listen to me!" Elizaveta shouted, reaching out for him. "Gil, what happened! Gil!"_

_But he didn't say anything, barely sparing her another glance as he entered his bus, hopping ver violin cases and backpacks and pairs of feet to join his group of friends near the back. The bus let out a rumble, before slowly chugging down the road._

_Gil looked out the window as the rain began to come down harder, a bolt of lightning flashing through the hazy sky._

_She was still standing there, face hidden by a shadow, holding the umbrella above her head._

_He wondered what was going through her mind at that moment, but quashed that thought immediately._

_They weren't friends anymore anyways._


	4. Chapter 4

After the meeting was over, Elizaveta approached Gil rather stiffly, gesturing to the door. "Let's go. We're having the tutoring session at my place, right?"

He shrugged, uncomfortable. This was the girl who had said that she hated him less than a half an hour ago, he reminded himself.

The odd pair left in silence, waving a half-hearted good-bye to the ever-cheerful Ms. Braginski, blending in with the small group of crazed delinquents trickling out of the room. The hallways were nearly empty, as most of students still remaining on campus were either practicing with their sports teams or meeting with teachers in the deserted classrooms.

He thought longingly of how he could be playing football right then if he hadn't got himself entangled in such a mess, the bumpy surface of the ball gripped between his fingers, the sweet satisfaction he couldn't help but feel after scoring a touchdown.

"You know, I had to take time off field hockey to tutor you," she said abruptly, turning around to narrow her eyes at him. "So quit feeling sorry for yourself. It's all your fault, and you know it."

His temper flared, kicking into his gut. "Who said that I was feeling sorry for myself? And it's not like I _forced_ you to tutor me. Why the hell did you agree to it if you hate me so much?"

"You think I could have said no to Mr. Vargas?" she retorted. "Maybe if you hadn't flunked all of your classes—"

"Maybe if you hadn't been such a stupid goody-two-shoes—"

"Okay, now you're really pushing it—"

The two were practically shouting at one another by the time the secretary stuck her head out of the office to glare daggers at them, shushing them loudly. Elizaveta rolled her eyes when she slammed the door shut, popping a piece of bubblegum into her mouth and chewing furiously.

He gave her an incredulous look. "Isn't that against school rules?"

"Who's the goody-two-shoes now?" she snapped, marching out of the school and into the midday sunshine. "I don't really give a damn."

He rolled his eyes, following her reluctantly. The two walked across the sidewalk surrounding their school and past the main field, where her former team was practicing, the air filled with elated cheers. She barely spared them a glance, striding past and refusing to make eye contact with him.

"How far away is your house again?" Gil asked, desperate to break the silence.

"Less than ten minutes," she said icily, "which is why I never take the bus. Do you have a problem with walking or something?"

"No."

"Good."

The tension continued to build as the unlikely duo left campus and turned right, walking on the very edge of the pavement. Gil couldn't help but feel a wave of nostalgia as they passed by the run-down bakery where he and Elizaveta used to spend their free time in elementary school. And then, when they were in sixth grade, at the arcade. Even though it had been years, his lips curled into a reluctant smile as he recalled the buildings around him, and the memories that came with the neighborhood.

"Frank!" Elizaveta's eyes lit up as she caught sight of an elderly man sitting on a rusty park bench, his lap covered by a plaid blanket. The man squinted at her through his silver glasses, face crinkling into a smile.

"Lizzie!" he called out in a strained voice, holding out his twig-like arms to give her a quick hug. "How are you, sweetheart?"

"I'm fine." She grasped his frail hands in hers, eyes brimming with tears.

"I haven't seen you in forever, honey. Have you forgotten about this old geezer?" He let out a quivering laugh.

"Don't be ridiculous!" she giggled. "I'm sorry, I've just been really busy with the student council and sports. Junior year is getting pretty tough."

"Well, knock 'em dead, Lizzie!" The man winked at her, before finally catching sight of the fidgeting Gil. "Who is _this_ young man?"

Elizaveta glanced over her shoulder, as if she had forgotten he was there. "Don't you remember him? He's my...friend. Gilbert. He needs some help with schoolwork, so from today on, I'm his tutor. I think you met him when we were ten."

The elderly man adjusted his glasses, squinting at him. "Ah, yes. I remember. Well, the best of luck to you, young man. I don't want to stop you from studying properly, so you youngsters better get a move on."

He turned back to Elizaveta. "Elisa is dying to see you, sweetheart. Stop by when you're not so busy, okay?"

"It's a deal!" she exclaimed, backing away and giving him a cheerful wave. "See you around, Frank!"

Elizaveta leaned forward to peck him on cheek, before grabbing Gil's arm and dragging him away. After they were a safe distance away, she stopped. "Would you quit just standing around and looking like an idiot all the time?" she hissed, shoving him away.

"What the hell was I supposed to say?" he demanded, massaging his sore forearm. "I don't even _remember_ that guy."

She rolled her eyes, storming forward. "Come on, loser."

He followed her, hands in his sweater pockets. "I couldn't help but notice that you said that I was a friend."

"What the hell was I supposed to say?" Elizaveta mimicked him in a falsetto.

He chose not to comment, following her to the entrance of a brick building crawling with green ivy, watching her search through her purse for her key. After pulling it out from a cramped space between her cellphone and a packet of mint lifesavers, she pushed the silver key into the lock and opened the door with a creak, the smell freshly baked brownies filling the musty air. Elizaveta quietly knocked on the door to her apartment, pressing her ear to the door.

Moments later, the door burst open, and a middle-aged woman stepped out of her apartment, green apron tied around her waist. She beamed at Gil, leaning forward to give him a warm embrace. "Gil! It's wonderful to see you again."

He tentatively hugged her back. "Hi, Katarina."

Elizaveta didn't say anything, grimacing as her mother babbled excitedly about how he was now a solid head taller than she was now, how she was still managing the candy shop, how proud she was of Elizaveta, etc. He merely smiled and nodded awkwardly as she ushered the two into the small apartment— a place he hadn't seen in at least four or five years.

Gil craned his neck to look around the cozy living room. The mantle of the fireplace was crowded with small metal trophies, ceramic statues of kittens and birds, and dusty, fingerprint-marked photographs. A picture of Katarina smiling as she posed in a polka-dotted bikini at the beach. Eight year-old Elizaveta closing her eyes as she played her cello onstage. Two children with mud-smeared cheeks, grinning angelically in front of their homemade ant hill.

The furniture was still the same. An old television on top of a cheap wooden table and a vase of fresh daisies perched on the windowsill. Crimson-red couches that looked as fat and comfortable as ever, hand-embroidered throw pillows strewn across the cracked upholstery. A color-coded bookshelf crowded with Katarina's favorite nineteenth century novels. Fingers painting dated back to ten years ago, hanging proudly in their homemade frames.

Katarina smiled as the boy glanced around her apartment, resting one hand on her hip and the other on his broad shoulder. "Nothing's changed, huh?"

He murmured in assent. The woman disappeared into the tiny kitchen, only to reappear moments later carrying a tray of her famous fudge brownies and three glasses of milk. After studying the goodies for another moment, he corrected himself. Two glasses of regular milk and one soy.

Only then did he remember that she was lactose intolerant. How could he have forgotten something like that?

Elizaveta sighed as she plopped herself down on one of the couches, snatching up one of the brownies. She bit into the chocolate treat with gusto, swallowing it with a huge gulp and washing it down with her soy milk. He tentatively took one for himself, slowly biting into the chewy deliciousness and savoring the rich taste.

His mind flashed back to the times when he and Elizaveta attempted to create a recipe that rivaled Katarina's when they were eleven, grinning as he recalled their odd mixture of ingredients. Dirt from her yard. Earthworms. Gummi bears. Laundry detergent. Gil had to stifle a laugh upon recalling the priceless look of horror on Katarina's face when she returned from her trip to the post office to find the mess in her kitchen.

She frowned at him, gulping down another bite of brownie. "What's so funny?"

The smile was replaced by a scowl in an instant. "Nothing you need to know."

He vaguely heard her pray to the Lord and ask the heavens why she had been cursed to deal with such an asshole. After finishing her quick snack and dusting the crumbs off her skirt, she stood up, announcing, "I'm going to change. Just give me a sec."

He watched her as she disappeared into her bedroom, closing the door with a loud bang. Katarina poked her head out of the kitchen, before tiptoeing out and sitting herself down next to him on the couch. She pulled the butterfly clip out of her hair and combed out the tangled strands with her fingers, fixing Gil with a steely gaze. "You really hurt her all those years ago."

He swallowed a mouthful of milk, avoiding eye contact. "Yeah. I know."

"She came to me crying that night," she said, painfully quiet and gentle. "She told me what you had done. What you said to her. She has every right to hate you. You know that, right?"

He desperately willed her to stop talking, but chose to nod stiffly, staring down at the half-eaten brownie in his lap.

"But I want that to change." She smiled, leaning over to give his hand a reassuring squeeze. "Trust me, Gil. I know from personal experience how much she can really hold a grudge." She let out a bitter laugh. "You really broke her heart, Gil, but with some hard work, I think you two can be friends again.

"Gil, you and Lizzie were inseparable from the day you first met. Can't you at least try to get her to like you again?" Katarina placed her hand on top of his once more. "You can't expect her to be nice to you right away. I mean, it's been five years. So, Gil...please be patient. This is for both of you, okay?"

She stood up and tousled his hair, humming a cheery tune to herself as she sauntered back into the kitchen.

Gil knew that she was delusional. Idealistic. Did she really think that Elizaveta would accept him as a friend again? He wasn't really sure that he wanted her as a friend anymore either. After all, she had changed, as had he. Katarina couldn't expect them to just magically become pals again, right?

But still, it hurt to think about how genuine Katarina seemed when she claimed that it was for the both of them. Gil wasn't stupid enough to believe that he and Elizaveta could piece together their friendship, but _maybe_ he could try to be polite and make sure that they weren't butting heads all the time. What was now a bitter rivalry could possibly turn into a halfway-decent tutor-student relationship.

Elizaveta stepped out of her room, wearing red and green checkered pants that appeared to be two sizes too large and a loose v-neck t-shirt. She yawned pointedly, stretching her arms above her hand, and collapsed onto the couch.

Gil smirked at her, holding up his glass of milk. "You _do_ realize that if I spill this on you, I'd be able to see your boobs?"

She gave him an icy glare, crossing her arms over her not-so-prominent chest. "Pervert."

"Well, not that there would be much to see anyways."

Elizaveta grabbed a newspaper from the coffee table, rolled it up, and, in a lightning-quick motion, smacked him on the head. "Doucheface."

"Truce, truce," he laughed, bracing his hands in surrender. "So, do we get to the tutoring or what?"

She narrowed her eyes at him, before sighing and slouching further down the worn couch, clutching a flower-embroidered pillow to her chest. "Fine. What do you need help with the most?"

He pondered this for a moment. "History, probably. I'm getting the worst grades in it."

"Well, that's not surprising, considering how you and your _amigo_ never seem to shut up," she grumbled, tracing the pink flower designs with her index finger.

Gil stuck his tongue out at her, grabbing another pillow and whacking her on the head. "Shut up. So just how the hell are you going to help me?"

She rolled her eyes. "It's not that difficult, idiot. _Your_ problem is that you're too much of a douchenugget to actually put effort into anything other than your stupid sport."

"What the hell are you talking about? Field hockey isn't so fucking great _either_."

Elizaveta clamped a hand to his mouth. "Seriously, cool it with the language or I'll wash your mouth out with my mom's homemade soap. Not pleasant, I assure you. Since you're under my roof, play by my rules. Okay, dickwad? Anyways, where was I again? Right. Okay. The only way to actually get acceptable grades in history is to do a shitload of studying. What was DeWitt Clinton's greatest accomplishment? Google it. Of course, you have to make sure that the site is—"

"This isn't really helping," he interrupted, his patience quickly waning. "Can't you say something useful? The old man actually said that you'd be a good tutor."

"—anyways, you should just make study flash cards or something. Or meet with your teachers if you don't get it. I'll let you take a look at my notes and I'll go over some concepts with you, and I guess I'll give you study tips, but really, there isn't much I can do for history. Do you need help with your homework or something?" she said loudly, twirling a strand of her thick hair between her fingers."

Gil was already fed up. "If you don't want to help me, then you should just quit. It's not like I'm _dying_ to be here with you either. So stop acting like a total bitch and actually _help me_."

They lapsed into uncomfortable silence.

She suddenly clambered to her feet, averting her eyes. "You know what? I think we both need some time to cool off, okay? We're just pissing each other off. And besides, I...I have to get ready for a date now, so you should probably just leave. I'm sorry that I wasn't much help today. Tomorrow, alright?"

Before he could fully register what had happened, she had already vanished into her room. Gilbert heaved a sigh, trudging to her room and pressing his ear to the door. He twisted the silver doorknob. Locked.

"Hey, Elizaveta...I'm sorry for blowing up at you."

No response. Then he remembered the date she had mentioned. "Hey, Elizaveta. Was the date thing just an excuse or were you for real? If it was just an excuse, it's okay, I can leave if you want—"

"No, dumbass, I have a _boyfriend_ ," she said curtly, her voice trembling. He jangled the doorknob one more time. "And please don't call me Elizaveta. Liz, Eli, Eliza, Lizzie— I really don't give a damn."

"Um, sure...Liz," he said carefully. Trying to make conversation, he added, "So who's the lucky guy?"

"Roderich Edelstein. You two are friends, right?"


	5. Chapter 5

His friend? Was she blind or something? He gave the closed door an incredulous look.

Sure, he and Roderich had been teammates since middle school, and could pull their act together when a particularly tough game called for it, but the guy drove him insane. He was just such a pretentious ass-kisser, pretending to be some goody-two-shoes who got perfect grades and won every goddamn award possible.

Something flared in his gut at this revelation, that his childhood friend was dating his worst enemy, but he did his best to ignore it. They probably deserved each other.

"Um...okay," he heard himself, shuffling backwards. "Sorry. I'll just leave now. Have fun at your date."

Katarina poked her head out of the kitchen, eyes wide with concern. Trying to force down that queasy feeling in his stomach, he smiled at her and muttered good-bye, hurriedly leaving the apartment.

As soon as he stepped out into the midday sunshine, Gil was overcome by a hollow feeling. A strange sensation he couldn't quite pinpoint exactly.

Well, whatever it was, he definitely didn't feel like going home and telling Ludwig that he had just been officially labeled a delinquent, had joined a club chock full of them, and was currently being tutored by his secretary.

Gil let out a huff of frustration, leaning his back against the cool brick of the building.

After deciding against returning to the school just to throw a couple of footballs around, he began to wander through the neighborhood. His eyes, misty with nostalgia, hungrily drunk in the sight of the other apartment complexes, ancient houses with robin's egg blue shutters and porches that were falling apart, peppered with the occasional antique shop, bakery, or small real estate office.

Gil stuck his hands in his jean pockets, meandering lazily around the place. He reached into his backpack for his clunky, prehistoric phone, flipping the top open. 3:06.

Two more hours to kill. When he was still on the football team, he would finish practice around five and shower in the gym locker room, and then head home and eat some of whatever Ludwig had bothered to order for him. He would have to get home around that time to keep from seeming suspicious.

Gil was dreading his brother's reaction to his official delinquent status. Despite his attempts to distract himself, he couldn't help but picture that look of quiet disappointment on his face and the mournful shake of his head, so much worse than any outburst of anger.

It was silly, but what could he do?

It was just that his brother was so...distant. Always locking himself up on his room, doing homework or rewriting the school's honor code. Completely ignoring Gil in school, pretending that he didn't have such a failure for an older brother.

But Gil couldn't blame him. He knew that he was a disappointment, a waste of space and time and effort. An embarrassment to his brilliant younger brother.

Lost in his own self-pity, he rounded the corner, but instead of finding a couple more office buildings, there was...an empty lot.

It was filled with wilting dandelions and yellowing weeds, empty containers of Skippy's peanut butter and crushed beer cans strewn across the parched soil. A rusted sign was tilted onto its side, its cheery red and white paint peeling off in long, jagged strips. He crouched down to read it, squinting to make out the faded print. _If interested, contact Brynwood Real Estate!_

The sun drawing beads of sweat on the nape of his neck, he brushed a hand against a dandelion, watching the petals crumble between his fingertips.

He sat crouched there for what seemed like an eon before it dawned on him: he wanted it. This empty lot tucked in a remote corner, abandoned and unwanted. Decrepit. Thrown to the side.

And of course, he wanted something in his stupid, good-for-nothing life to work out for once.

Not fully conscious of exactly what he was doing, Gil plucked his phone out of his pocket and dialed the number painted onto the sign.

Someone picked up the phone on the third ring, saying in a tinny voice, "Yes? You've reached Brynwood Real Estate. How may I help you?"

Gi cleared his throat. "Hello, sir. Um...my name is Gilbert Beilschmidt, and uh...I'm a junior at Ashwick High. I'm interested in purchasing your lot in Thornwood."

"So you're a high school student?" the man cut him off, obviously suspicious. "What are you planning to do with it?"

The question caught him off guard. He actually...didn't really know what he wanted to use it for. His mind hastily fished around for possibilities, until the image of the dried dandelion popped into his head. He cleared his throat. "I'm gonna plant a garden. An awesome one."

Yes. That was perfect. It wasn't something that he would admit, but for some inexplicable reason, he loved gardening with all his heart. As much as he enjoyed dabbling in his interest, however, he never had the opportunity to plant anything more than a couple of potted plants on his windowsill, since the hag he and Ludwig lived with never so much as let him touch her precious azaleas.

Liz had loved flowers. She would sit in meadow all day and smile in pure delight at the colorful buds, her chestnut hair glimmering under the sun. Lacing together endless daisy chains. Gently plucking up a pink wildflower and tucking it behind her ear. Blowing milky dandelion seeds into the air, watching them drift into the dazzling blue sky and out of sight.

The man hesitated for a moment, but Gil could hear the smile in his voice as he said, "Alright. I'll give it to you."

"Thanks." Gil nodded, relieved. "How much do you want for it?"

"No, no, nothing like that. It's yours. I'm just glad that someone's taking it off my hands. Good luck with your gardening, kid." A click later, and the line was dead.

Gil slowly brought the phone away from his face, gaping at the screen. A wide grin spreading across his face, he slipped the phone back into his pocket.

It was his. He pulled the sign from the ground and tossed it to the side, beaming. "Looks like we have some work to do, buddy."

* * *

"For our first Oyster Club project," Ms. Braginski said, clasping her hands together, "we're going to sell cookies in the Ashwick Mall!"

Everyone gaped at her.

As reliable as ever, Liz raised her hand. "So, how is this gonna work?"

Ms. Braginski reached into her black mesh bag and pulled out a clipboard, tucking a pencil behind her ear. "Well, I made three pairs and one three-man cell, so I'm going to station you guys around the mall with cookie stands and ask you to sell cookies to shoppers. One pair's going to have to walk around holding signs to advertise our booths."

Gil let out an internal groan. Partners? Well, this didn't seem like a particularly tantalizing prospect.

"Okay, so...Sadiq and Heracles will be the advertisers!"

Dead silence. Arthur scowled darkly, kicking his sneaker-clad feet onto his desk. "Is she _trying_ to blow the bloody place up?"

Alfred grunted in agreement, watching in morbid curiosity as the two freshmen glared daggers at one another.

Gil sighed ruefully, focusing his attention back onto Ms. Braginski, who continued to cheerfully read off the pairs, seemingly oblivious to the tension in the room. "Natalya and Feliks." The pyro rolled her eyes, sticking her tongue out at the blonde. "Alfred, Arthur, and Lovino. And...Elizaveta and Gilbert!"

Gil almost choked, immediately turning to Liz. She seemed to be suspended in time, her mouth still on the water bottle she had been chugging before Ms. Braginski had dropped the bombshell.

Liz yelped as she removed the bottle from her mouth, spluttering, "M-Ms. Braginski, you can't!"

Her eyes zeroed in on Gil. "How the hell is this my fault?" he protested.

"And that's all I have to say!" Ms. Braginski scribbled something on her clipboard. "All set to go everyone?" The club was too busy engaging in a collective glaring fest to respond. "Great! Okay, to the bus!"

Liz scowled, swinging her bag over her shoulders and storming out of the room.

Gil took a few cautious steps forward, before tapping the young teacher's shoulder. "Excuse me, Ms. Braginski? Um...well, I don't really know if pairing me with that-" he caught himself, amending, "-Elizaveta, 'cause we don't really get along all that well and stuff like that. So can you, like, pair me with someone else?"

Ms. Braginski frowned at him. "That's the exact reason why I paired you two together. With what happened yesterday, I don't want to see that sort of hostility within the club." She nodded sagely. "You and Elizaveta should at least try and be friends, so to push you forward, I'm giving you some bonding time to settle your differences. It's the same reason why I paired Sadiq and Heracles together. So try and be nice to her, okay?"

The teacher winked at him. "Now let's go have some fun!"

* * *

And so, the two ended up setting up their booth in front of some fancy French perfume shop, stacking cheap boxes of cookies on their foldable table and hastily scribbling signs on spare sheets of loose-leaf.

Gil watched in slight amusement as Sadiq and Heracles paraded around and glowered at one another, colorful signs hanging from strings around their necks. "Cookies," they would drone in unison every once in a while, pausing to exchange a murderous look.

An elbow jabbed at his rib. He grunted in surprise, turning to scowl at the perpetrator. "What the hell was that for?"

She rolled her eyes, gesturing to the crowds of passerby barely glancing at their hapless display. "Stop acting like a zombie. Say something to the people to make this shit seem _somewhat_ appealing."

"We don't even know what this is for anyways," he fired back, jutting his thumb towards Sadiq and Heracles. "And besides, that's _their_ job."

"Well, I'm sure that it's just for some sort of event that the club is planning," she retorted, before plastering a movie-star smile onto her face. "Cookies! Cookies! Two dollars per box! Support Ashwick High's Oyster Club! Cookies!"

It took about ten minutes for a woman with two toddlers to toss the money onto their table. "Can I have a box of oatmeal raisin?"

Elizaveta handed the cookies over, smoothing out the crumpled bills and placing them in a tin box. "Thank you for your business, ma'am!"

The woman nodded, handing the box of cookies to her children, and ushered them away.

Every once in a while, the two managed to sell another box or two of cookies, thanking the customer profusely after their transaction. However, despite what Ms. Braginski had promised, no bonding of any sort took place as they fidgeted uncomfortably, methodically rearranged the pyramid of cookie boxes, and re-counted the money in the envelope.

Honestly, he would rather be locked in a dark closet with Natalya Braginski than suffer in hopelessly awkward silence with the girl who so obviously hated him.

"So...how was your date?" he finally said.

She gave him a dubious look, before grumbling, "Fine."

"How's old Roddy?" he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Fine." She gritted her teeth, foot tapping impatiently against the tiled floor.

"So, what did you two do? Screw in the back of his Prius? Chat about politics and the economy in a fancy little restaurant?" Gil was well aware that he was being a total asshole, hey, he needed _some_ entertainment.

Liz reddened immediately, averting her eyes."It's none of your business, idiot."

"Oh? But I'm simply dying to know." Gil waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "He and I are _very_ good friends, after all."

Liz looked like she wanted nothing more than to argue, but settled for a huff of frustration and a glare aimed at a poster of an anorexic model posing with a designer bag.

"What did that poster ever do to-?" Gil stopped in the middle of his taunt, eyes widening in shock.

His brother, of all people, was barely a hundred feet away, toting a plastic bag and heading in their direction. Gil gasped, hiding under the table. _Oh shit._

She frowned at him, before finally noticing Ludwig, her eyes lighting up. "Hey, Ludwig! Over here!" she shouted, ecstatically waving him over.

He smiled wearily when he spotted her, shouldering his way through the sea of people and making his way towards their booth.

Liz ducked her head so their eyes were level, hissing, "What the hell are you doing?"

Without warning, she grabbed his arm and yanked him upwards. He almost lost his balance, just barely managing to keep himself upright. Before he could duck back under, however, Ludwig was already standing in front of the table, his eyes widening at the sight of his brother.

Gil gave him a jittery grin, crossing his fingers behind his back.

"So what brings you here, Prez?" Liz chirped, leaning casually against the table.

Ludwig lifted up his bag. "I work part-time at a Starbucks. I just finished my shift, so I was heading home." He nodded curtly to her, before narrowing his eyes at Gil. "Now, what are you doing here? Shouldn't be at football practice?"

He spluttered in the process of trying to formulate an appropriate response, Liz cutting him off to chime in, "Oyster Club stuff." Liz raised an eyebrow, gaze never wavering from Gil. "You know...the new club run by Ms. Braginski that you wanted me to supervise? The one where 'academically and morally challenged students gather to learn how to become proper members of society'? Well, we're selling cookies, and-"

"Yes, yes, I know that." He gestured at Gil. "But what is _he_ doing here?"

Gil grimaced, shooting Liz a meaningful look.

But, as usual, she paid him no heed. "Oh, Gilbert? For the same reason as the rest of us."

"Us? You joined the Oyster Club?" Ludwig gave Gil the stern, disappointed look he had been expecting. Gil felt a twinge of guilt as his younger brother sighed, shaking his head glumly.

"Um...yeah. I talked to Mr. Vargas yesterday, and um...he said that I could join the club to get some extra credit. And Liz agreed to tutor me, so...yeah. It all works out." Gil fidgeted, anxiously awaiting the time of judgment.

But Ludwig just sighed. "The two of us can discuss this later. See you tomorrow, Elizaveta. There's a meeting during lunch tomorrow, so don't forget to stop by."

"Roger that, Prez!" Liz gave him a sharp salute.

He gave her a half-hearted smile and slipped back into the thick of the crowd, drifting towards the mall entrance.

After his brother was out of earshot, Gil turned to glower at her. "What the hell was _that_ for?"

Liz gave him an incredulous look. "What else was I supposed to say? That you, being the kind and generous person you are, ditched practice to help out the goddamn Oyster Club? _Please_. Like he'd ever believe that crap. And besides, you were gonna have to tell him eventually."

He hated when she was right. "Ugh, this really sucks."

They lapsed into silence.

"Hey," Liz blurted out, toying with a strand of her hair, "Um...it's not like I want you to get expelled. Vargas would kill me if you didn't get better under my watch. Ludwig would too, so...um...let's do our best together. Okay?" She held out her fist.

He looked at her skeptically. Well, she seemed genuine enough. He reluctantly lifted up his hand and bumped fists with her.

A little girl sitting in a field of flowers. A little girl that dried his tears and told him that everything would turn out okay.


	6. Chapter 6

After their not-so-productive tutoring session had ended, Gilbert declined Katarina's offer to drive him home, insisting on walking instead.

The sun was setting, sending rosy streamers of color arcing across the sky and painting the puffy clouds a vibrant pink. The autumn air was pleasantly cool, small gusts of wind sending the fallen leaves skittering across the cracked pavement and tousling his hair.

Upon reaching his house, he ducked under a maple tree to pry open the gate, feeling the branch skim his head before springing back into place. Glancing up, he noted that the lights had been switched off on the old hag's half of the house, but the window of Ludwig's bedroom was still glowing softly, the cotton curtain illuminated by his bedside lamp.

Gil crossed the yard and opened the door, kicking off his shoes and walking into the kitchen.

It was too dark to see, but Gil didn't turn the lights on in fear of disturbing Ludwig. After feeling his way across the dark room, he found the rusted handle of their mini-fridge and tugged it open, grabbing a Saran-wrapped cold cut sandwich and a can of Coke. Suddenly famished, he immediately pushed the tab down and took an enormous gulp.

"Gilbert?"

Gil nearly choked, covering his mouth with the sleeve of his hoodie to swallow the mouthful of soda. He tried to play it cool. "Hey, Lud. How's it goin'?"

"Just fine," his brother said evenly, leaning back to flick the light switch. Much to his dismay, Ludwig looked downright murderous.

Gil hoped in vain that pursuing his favorite topic would somehow pacify him. "How's the student council going?"

"Good." Just as he had anticipated, this plan was a failure; if anything, Ludwig seemed even more peeved. "But there's something else we have to discuss."

He felt a surge of anger kick into his gut. "If it's about the Oyster Club thing—"

"I always knew that you were immature, but this is just on another level," Ludwig cut him off.

 _Ouch._ Gil blanched, saying defensively, "I'm just not as good as you, okay? I'm not smart-"

"This has nothing to do with that," his brother said sharply. "It's about the terrible choices you've been making. You're getting into fights on a weekly basis. You're don't try in classes. You're completely disrespectful to every person you meet. Can't you at least try to be a civilized human being?"

"Why, so you don't look bad in front of every damn person you kiss up to?" he challenged.

They lapsed into awkward silence.

Ludwig struggled to find a response to this, but managed to compose himself. "I've done everything I can, Gilbert," he said stiffly. "For your own sake, please get your act together."

Gil felt like punching a wall as he watched his brother storm out of the room, unable to retaliate.

Had he ever felt this pathetic?

* * *

"Next order of business!" Ms. Braginski announced, whipping out her trusty clipboard and pencil. "Buying supplies for our picnic!"

"Our picnic?" Natalya asked, looking at her sister in disbelief.

"What else were we going to with all of the money we earned at the cookie sales?" Ms. Braginski beamed, rifling through her papers before letting out a triumphant "aha!". She cleared her throat dramatically. "Yesterday, at the Oyster Club's first fundraiser, conducted at the Ashwick Mall...we made a total of fifty dollars and twenty-five cents!"

Not bad, considering how dismal sales had been for himself and Liz, Gil reasoned.

"And that's enough for a picnic?" Arthur inquired, clearly skeptical.

Her smile didn't falter. "Well, I talked to Mr. Vargas about it, and he says that he'd been willing to give us some money in order to fund the picnic, so not to worry, Arthur! After all, it's a worthy cause. Think about it, everyone. Just imagine all of the friendships you're going to make here!"

From the blank looks that most of the club members were giving her, Gil knew that nothing of the sort was on their minds.

"Hell, yeah, this is awesome!" Alfred pumped his fist into the air, vigorously biting into his turkey sandwich. "Let's get this party started!"

"That's the spirit, Alfred!" Mr. Braginski cheered, relieved that someone was on her side. "Okay, so I made a list of what we're going to buy at the supermarket—"

Gil tuned out as she read out the items on her list, unable to tear his mind away from his heated exchange with Ludwig the previous night.

"—and I decided that I really liked the partner idea, and since the groups I put you guys in yesterday seemed to really work out, I decided to make these your permanent partners!"

"What?" the entire club shouted in unison, snapping out of their stupor.

"B-But-" Liz stammered, too shocked to form a coherent sentence. Judging by the look on her face, Natalya felt the same way.

"I can't have the goth rubbing off on me!" Feliks gasped, grasping his face in horror. "Can't you see what it's doing to my skin?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "You look just fine, pretty boy."

However, Ms. Braginski was undeterred, rattling off the day's order of business as if nothing had happened. "Natalya and Feliks will be in charge of buying the hamburgers, hot dogs, and buns. Sadiq and Heracles– napkins, tablecloths, wipes, and tinfoil. Alfred, Arthur, and Lovino– condiments and drinks. Elizaveta and Gilbert— paper plates, cups, and plastic utensils." Once Ms. Braginski had finished reading down the list, she glanced up to beam at everyone. "After you've checked out the items I've assigned you, meet at the front of the supermarket. I'd like to ask you to not fool around, since we need all the time we can get to plan the picnic! Is everyone ready?"

"Woohoo," Gil said under his breath, reluctantly standing up and following his disgruntled clubmates out of the classroom.

* * *

As soon as Gil grabbed a grimy shopping cart, Liz clambered inside and eased into a sitting position. He gave her an incredulous look. "Do you seriously expect me to push your fat ass around a supermarket?"

"Yes," she said, without missing a beat. "Well? Aren't you gonna move? You're kind of holding everyone up." Unfortunately, she was right; a crowd of baffled shoppers had already gathered behind them.

Gil heaved a sigh and finally gave in, pushing the cart with unnecessary force. He peered around the aisles, muttering, "Canned food, baking items, processed food, soda...aha! Paper goods."

He jerked the cart sharply to the left, pushing it down the aisle. "Hey, Liz...a little help here."

She was tapping away on her phone, seemingly oblivious to the rest of the world. Something about her casual indifference ticked him off, and, upon opening his mouth to complain, he was struck with a wild idea that would make her _pay_ for bitching off on him.

Barely able to conceal his glee, Gil stopped in the middle of the aisle. She was in the middle of giving him an impatient look when he suddenly broke into a run, the wheels of the cart screeching in protest against the grimy tiles.

"Gilbert, what the hell are you doing?" Liz shrieked, hands clamped over her ears.

Paying her no mind, he giddily let go of the cart, laughing maniacally as it spiraled out of control and crashed into a display of baby powder. The stacked boxes toppled over, their cheap cardboard flaps tearing open and scattering powder all across the floor.

Scowling murderously at him, Liz crawled out of the tipped-over cart, her hair dusted with white. She stumbled to her feet and dusted off her blouse, storming over angrily to him and grabbing him by his collar. "You little–"

"What do you kids think you're doing?" a bony man in uniform demanded, stomping over from where he was arranging hamburger patties. "Isn't there a better place for you two love birds to muck around?"

She gave Gil a "now-you've-done-it" look, before plastering a million-dollar smile onto her face. "I apologize for my friend's behavior, sir, but I–"

"Don't 'sir' me," the store employee said gruffly, pointing to the door. "Out."

Liz faltered. "B-but, sir, um, you see, we have really important things to do!"

He shook his head grimly, bending down to assess the damage. "Out," he repeated, picking up a dented box.

Gil started forward, ready to give the jackass a good smack to the face, but Liz pulled him away before he could move a muscle. She was surprisingly strong for such a tiny person, he noted in irritation, struggling fruitlessly against her iron grip.

It was only then that it dawned on him. "Hey, isn't the door the other way?"

She turned around to give him an annoyed look. "Don't tell me I actually have to explain it to you. Ms. Braginski's standing at the front entrance. Do you want to get detention 'cause you crashed me into a fucking baby powder display? So we're gonna to leave through the back door." Passing by the dairy aisle, they waited until no one was was looking before pushing open a metal door ("personnel only") and entering the storage room.

"It's your fault for being such a bitch," he retorted, maneuvering over a stack of flattened cardboard boxes. "If you hadn't been so busy texting _Roddy—_ "

"What? I was just telling Lili where I was," she said icily, releasing him. "Stop jumping to conclusions, dickwad."

Stepping out of the freezing storage room, they found themselves standing in a small thicket of oak trees and overgrown shrubs. Liz barely batted an eye, ducking under a branch and squeezing past the maze of thorns, Gil trailing after her.

"So, what's the plan?" Gil asked, staring at the wide expanse of deserted street in front of them.

"Well, we're gonna have to get the stuff somehow, right?" Liz replied. "I think there's a dollar store somewhere around here, so if we can find it and get back before Ms. Braginski starts wondering where we are and calls the police, it'll all work out." Dusting off her pants, she began to stride down the street.

"You _think_ there's a dollar store somewhere?" He raised an eyebrow at her. "Sounds foolproof."

"Oh, go fuck yourself," she hissed, whipping around to glare at him. "You're the one who got us into this mess, and I'm trying to get us out. So if you have a better idea, please enlighten me."

Gil raised his hands in surrender, and she turned back around, storming down the street.

He sort of zoned out as Liz led them further and further away from the supermarket, making so many twists and turns that he lost track of where they were. Soon enough, he was fairly certain that she had, too.

His suspicions were confirmed when she stopped completely in her tracks, her brow furrowed in concentration. "I could have sworn that the store was right here."

Plucking up his resolve, he leaned forward to tap her on the shoulder. She flinched. "What?"

Gil took a deep breath to steel himself. "Just admit it. You don't have any fucking idea what you're doing."

He thought that she would at least deny it, but Liz just sighed, sulking to the nearest wall. "Alright, fine. We're totally lost." She sat with her back against the sooty brick, burying her face in her hands. "Fuck. Braginski's gonna be so mad."

Fighting the urge to come up with some witty retort, he crouched down beside her, gently touching her arm. "Um, so I guess we should give up the shopping thing. How about we try calling her?"

She shook her head mournfully. "No service. And besides, I don't even have her number."

Well, that was a bust. "Um, I guess we could try to find our way back?" Gil suggested tentatively. After failing to get a reaction out of her, he changed tactics, forcing a cheery grin. "Yeah, that's exactly what we should do! Come on, Liz! You can totally do it! You led us this far, right?" He clambered to his feet, holding his hand out to her.

Liz gave him skeptical look, but eventually caved in, allowing him to pull her to her feet. She cleared her throat, and began to survey the area. "Well, I think—"

All of a sudden, a rickety van hurtled towards them, headlights so blindingly bright that they both had to shield their eyes. The vehicle groaned to stop, puffing out a hazy cloud of exhaust as the door swung open. An Asian man in a jersey poked his head out of his window, squinting at them. "Kids need ride?" he asked, a crooked grin on his face.

In an ordinary situation, both of them, being the completely sane and normal seventeen-year-olds they were, would have instinctively grabbed one another and escaped while they could. However, as the prophet once said, desperate times called for desperate measures. After exchanging a quick look, the two nodded and almost tripped over one another in their rush to get to the van.

The vehicle stunk of incense and day-old take-out, a strange yellow stain coloring the entirety of the backseat. Most peculiarly, its trunk was piled to the brim beaten-down stuffed animals of all shapes and sizes, messily stacked on top of one another.

Liz wrinkled her nose, covering the seat with a nearby beach towel before gingerly sitting down.

"Where you need to go?" the man asked.

"Ashwick Supermarket," Liz supplied, and he merely nodded, starting the van with a loud rumble. It lurched forward in response, launching them into their loosely strung seat-belts, before beginning the slow chug down the street.

The man smiled at them in the rearview mirror. "So what you guys doing here?"

"My friend and I were doing something important for this club we're a part of, and he got us kicked out of the supermarket for fooling around," cue the scowl at Gil, "so we were trying to find a place where we could still get the stuff we needed. And I guess we sort of got lost, so...thanks for doing this. We really appreciate it." She elbowed him roughly in the side

"Um, yeah! Thanks!" Gil stammered. "You seem like a really awesome guy!"

"No big deal." He waved a dismissive hand. "I am Yao. What your names?"

Before she could answer, Gil chimed in, "Nice to meet you, Mr. Yao! My friend here is called Hortensia Winckles, and I'm Ryder Lordfuker. She hails from the kingdom of Douchelandia, while I have traveled across the desert from Awesomeland!" Liz rolled her eyes, but didn't correct him.

Yao was unfazed. "I from China," he declared.

The van groaned noisily down the road, but thankfully, the man seemed to know where he was going, turning left onto a street that seemed somewhat familiar. At that point, the two chose to relax, figuring that if the man was in any way suspicious, he probably would have dragged them to his pedo lair by then.

"Do you like Hello Kitty?" Yao asked them abruptly.

Gil raised an eyebrow at Liz, but she shushed him, laughing nervously. "Yeah, totally! We love Hello Kitty."

He reached for something in the passenger seat, causing the two to tense up. Had they been wrong to lower their guard? Was it a bomb? A gun? A bomb-gun? Was this how they were going to die, comical expressions of horror plastered to their faces?

Almost anti-climatically, a large Hello Kitty plushie landed in Liz's arms, waving adorably at them.

"For you," Yao announced, turning in his seat to flash them a thumbs-up.

"Um, thanks?" Liz gave the stuffed animal a quizzical look, straightening out its magenta bow.

"I was reading tea leaves in morning, and I saw I run into lost teenagers that liked Hello Kitty. And it seems I correct!" he exclaimed triumphantly, pumping a fist into the air.

They lapsed into uncomfortable silence.

Gil cleared his throat. "Oh, that's...nice."

"Yeah...what a coincidence," Liz said weakly, looking just about as baffled as he felt. She was fidgeting in her seat, her eyes darting uneasily around the van.

"But I see more than that," the man continued, nodding sagely. "I predict if you do not take off pants and put on head and run around your yard will die with pain. Money raining from sky in five hours and six minutes. You two get married and have eleven children with Japanese names."

"Oh, look, I can see the supermarket from here!" Liz almost toppled over as she leapt to her feet, gesturing to the outline of the building. "You can drop us off there!" Much to her relief, Yao eased the van over to the curb. "That's perfect. Thanks so much, Mr. Yao! We really appreciate the help!"

She flung open the passenger door, grabbing his wrist and and pulling him out of the van. Caught off guard, he nearly fell facedown in the street, but managed to steady himself against her. Football training really came in handy during times like these.

The frantic smile remained on her face as she waved good-bye to Yao, sighing in relief once the van had puffed out of sight. "Well, that was all sorts of creepy."

"So, what names do you have in mind?" Gilbert asked innocently, barely suppressing a snicker. "We need to come up with leven, you know."

"Don't mention that to me ever again," she groaned. "Seriously, I'm never hitchhiking again. We were just lucky he didn't try anything."

"I thought that you'd be sad, since, you know, you left the Hello Kitty back there and all. We love Hello Kitty," he mimicked, grinning as they made their way to the entrance of the supermarket.

Liz made a face. "Would you stop it with—"

"GILBERT! ELIZAVETA!"

Ms. Braginski tackled them with a huge hug that nearly sent them tumbling to the ground, her face teary and filled with relief. "Thank God you two are safe! Oh, good heavens, are you two alright? You're not injured, are you?"

"Um, we're okay, Ms. Braginski," Liz assured the woman, patting her apologetically on the back. "Sorry for making you worry."

She let go of them, dabbing her eyes and sniffling. "Worried's an understatement! I was scared to death! I even called the police to look for you— I was that terrified! What on earth were the two of you doing?"

"Having eleven children with Japanese names," Gil muttered under his breath.

"I beg your pardon?"

"It's a long story." He exchanged a knowing look with Liz.

"Well, don't think that I'm gonna let you two off the hook!" She furiously reached for her purse and pulled out her dreaded pink pad, tearfully scrawling on two slips and shoving them at Gil and Liz. "Detention tomorrow during lunch."

Liz looked absolutely horrified. "Ms. Braginski—"

But the woman had stormed away before either of them could stop her.

Liz stared at the slip of doom, her eyes as wide as saucers. Suddenly, she leaned back to slap Gil in the face, sending him reeling backwards. "Ow!" he exclaimed, cupping his cheek. "What the hell was _that_ for?"

"For everything," she said simply, her face burning red with anger, and stalked away.

He gazed at her in disbelief, shaking his head. " _Women_."


	7. Chapter 7

The Saturday of the picnic was warm and breezy— an anomaly for late October. When his alarm clock struck noon, his typical wake-up time for the weekend, Gil tumbled out of bed, brushed his teeth, and ran a comb through his bedhead in a half-hearted attempt to make himself look somewhat presentable. He flashed his reflection in the mirror a crooked grin before heading out to his front yard and hopping onto his bike, beginning the short ride to the local park.

There was something relaxing about the woody area, the smoky smell of roasting burgers filling the air. Families were milling about, adults exchanging brief words and clinking beer cans as their children played Frisbee and pushed one another on the creaky swing-set.

Making his way towards the cluster of club members, he stiffened at the sound of a familiar snide voice. "Nice of you to show up, Beilschmidt."

Gil turned around, smirking. "Didn't expect to see you here, Roddy-boy."

"Hi, Roderich!" Liz jogged over, grinning from ear to ear. "I'm so glad you came!"

"What the hell is he doing here?" Gil jabbed his finger in Roderich's direction.

"She invited me, idiot." Roderich waved Gil's hand away from his face.

Before he could retort back, Francis pounced on him, kissing him on the cheek. "Gilbert!"

"Francey?" Gil gaped. "You're here, too?"

" _Hola,_ Gil!" Antonio greeted, sauntering over to him, hands stuffed in his khaki pockets.

"You guys—"

Liz batted him on the arm. "I invited them for you, since I figured you were too dumb to do it yourself. So you're welcome."

"Yeah, thanks a lot," he grumbled. "Maybe try minding your own business next time?"

She huffed in exasperation. "Jesus Christ, Gil, I'm trying here. Why do you have to go and bitch off at me every time I try to do something nice for you?"

"Hold up. I'm the bitch here?" Gil laughed. "You basically ignored me for a week, and for what? A stupid detention?"

"Which we got 'cause of the mess you made!" she fired back. "Anyways, that's besides the point: I'm trying to apologize, and you're just being a dick about it."

"Um, hey, guys," Antonio blurted, his gaze flitting nervously between the both of them. He placed his hand on Gil's shoulder before he could open his mouth again. "Dude, it's fine. I'm glad Elizaveta invited us. Now we can just have fun?"

"Fine," Gil conceded. He pointed at Roderich. "I just don't see why she had to bring _him_."

"What's the big deal?" Liz retorted. "You guys are friends, right?"

He slapped himself on the forehead. "Liz, what the fuck, we've hated each other since eighth grade! Are you blind or something?"

She flushed red. "S-Shut up—"

"What are we fighting about here? Remember, make pasta, not war!" Feliciano Vargas popped up from behind them, beaming angelically.

"Feli!" Liz screamed, charging towards him and scooping him up in her arms. "How's my little baby?"

"And now she's being all rainbow and sunshine," Gil grumbled to his friends, shaking his head mournfully. "Girls are so weird, man. How the hell am I supposed to date one?"

"That's why men make the best lovers!" Francis batted his eyelashes at him.

Antonio rolled his eyes, shoving him away. "Ugh, stop. Your gay is rubbing off on me."

"Um, hey, Gilbert," a meek voice piped up from his left, quiet and uncertain.

Gil turned to the side, his eyes widening in surprise. "Oh, hey, Lili. How's it going?"

She smiled shyly. "It's pretty good."

"So Liz invited you, too?" he asked nonchalantly, ignoring the shit-eating grins Antonio and Francis were sending his way.

Lili nodded, her cheeks tinged a pale pink. "How's the tutoring going?"

"She told you about that?" He waved his hand dismissively. "Oh, it's going great. Physics equations aren't shit against my awesomeness."

She tucked a loose strand of hair between her ear. "Well, it's nice to see the two of you getting along. She didn't seem too happy about it at first."

"Well, yeah," he managed, fighting down the queasy feeling that rose in his stomach, "who can resist this face?" He grinned sheepishly when she giggled, running his fingers through his hair.

Liz gritted her teeth at the sight of her worst nightmare chatting with her best friend.

Feli, oblivious as always, didn't cease in his incessant rambling. "So I told Lovi that—"

"Hang on a sec, Feli," she interrupted, her eyes narrowing at her target, who most certainly would be taking a fist to the face if he laid a finger on her precious Lili. "I've got a stupid pervert to deal with." She stomped over to Gil and snatched him up by the collar. "What do you think you're doing to Lili?"

"What the hell, Liz?" Gil sputtered. "We were just _talking."_

"I don't need you harassing my friends!" she hissed.

Gil let out an exasperated huff. "What, so you can just invite my friends here without telling me and I can't even talk to yours?"

Liz was seething. "Why, you little-"

"Stop it, Lizzie, he's telling the truth," Lili protested, tugging at her shirt. "I said hi, we started to talk, and that's the end of it."

Liz reluctantly released him, looking pointedly at the ground. "Sorry."

Gil shrugged. "Whatever."

Given the way things were going so far, he had to wonder what the real purpose of the Oyster Club was. Although Ms. Braginski insisted time and time again that it was to form bonds with people they wouldn't ordinarily talk to, it seemed like all they ever did was mouth off at each other and cause even more problems.

He heaved a sigh.

Things definitely weren't looking up for Gilbert Beilschmidt.

* * *

After swallowing the last bit of his hot dog, Gil hummed in satisfaction, kicking his feet onto the picnic table. "Ah, that hits the spot!"

He, Liz, Lili, Roderich, Feli, Lovino, Francis, and Antonio had been crammed into one tiny picnic table. Despite their claustrophobic sitting arrangement and Ms. Braginski's less than competent grilling skills, they all managed to somewhat enjoy their lunch of burnt hot dogs and hamburgers and ginger ale.

Francis and Antonio, bless their little hearts, had been the driving force of the conversation, joking around and making small talk with everyone. However, despite their obvious charm, no one paid them much mind, everyone seemingly lost in their own thoughts as they methodically munched on potato chips and carrot sticks.

Roderich stood up, coughing to draw everyone's attention. "There's a beach here, right?"

"Um, yeah," Antonio affirmed, lips pursed. "What's up?"

He merely smiled mysteriously and turned to Gil, his eyes blazing. "Beilschmidt, I'd like to challenge you to a game of volleyball."

Gil grinned crookedly. "How can I refuse an offer like that? You're on." He leapt to his feet, shaking Roderich's hand. "Winner gets the biggest slice of pie later." Liz rolled her eyes, but looked amused nonetheless.

"Anyone who wants to join us is welcome," Roderich announced, turning to the others. "Beilschmidt and I will be the captains. Four on four." He shot Gil a smug look. "Why don't we take turns picking our teams? You can go first."

"Gladly." He surveyed his options. "Antonio."

"Elizaveta."

"Francis."

"Lovi."

"Lili."

Feli beamed at everyone, waving his arms. "Pick me! Pick me!"

Roderich wrinkled his nose, shooting Gil a sidelong glance. "Feliciano," he said, through gritted teeth.

"Yay, let's play!" Feli pumped a fist into the air, before frowning, puzzled as to why everyone seemed to be scowling at one another. "What's wrong?"

"It's nothing." Gil shook his head, turning to Roderich. "What the hell are you doing just standing there? Get the ball and prepare yourself for a major ass-kicking!"

* * *

Once Roderich had returned with the ball, they all slipped out of their shoes and left them underneath their picnic table, racing each other barefoot to the beach's volleyball court. The sand was grainy and scattered with bits of broken glass, but warm from an entire morning of toasting in the sun. Gil wiggled his toes, relishing in the comfortable heat that enveloped his bare skin.

Feli was spinning around in circles, laughing as Liz chased after him, shouting for him to get into position.

Gil watched Roderich adjust the sagging volleyball net, cleaning up the litter with distaste. Settling near the front of the front of the court, he took off his sweatshirt and began to stretch, spreading his arms out before leaning down to touch his toes.

Roddy-boy didn't know what was coming to him. Unfortunately for him, Gilbert happened to be decently experienced in the sport, having played in his local gym all through middle school. And Antonio and Francis, for all the prowess they showed on the football field, were also talented volleyball players; so, as long as they kept the ball far from Lili, they would definitely be able to crush Roderich's team without a hitch.

Francis and Antonio jogged towards him, Lili trailing nervously behind them. Gil grinned, waving them over. "You guys ready?"

"Of course!" The blonde Frenchman blew a kiss in his direction.

They exchanged a round of high-fives and a quick pep-talk, before Gil glanced at the other team. They were clustered together, Roderich at their stead, arguing heatedly over some strategy or other.

He let out a huff of frustration. "You morons ready yet? We don't have all day, you know."

Roderich rolled his eyes. "Okay, guys. Get into your positions!" They scurried off, forming two rows of two. Liz, standing directly opposite to Gil, was crouched down, hands at her sides, a bead of sweat trickling down her forehead. Lovi looked equally as somber, ignoring his brother, who was ooh-ing and ah-ing at a crab he had found.

All fell quiet. Roderich took a deep breath, balancing the ball in the palm of his hand. Rearing back, he tossed it into the air, sending it over the net in a high arc.

"Got it!" Gil shouted, crouching down to bump it towards Francis, who set it perfectly, allowing Antonio to jump into the air and spike it over to the other team. Liz, her brow furrowed in concentration, scrambled to hit it, but only managed to knock it a bit to the left, far too low for anyone to save it.

"Nice job, guys!" Gil grinned at his teammates, basking in the glory of their small victory. He stuck his tongue out at Roderich, who gnashed his teeth really and rolled the ball under the net. "Much appreciated," he warbled, catching the ball with his foot and passing it to Antonio. "1-0, Team Gilbert."

Roderich just shook his head. Snickering to himself, he motioned for Antonio to serve. The ball teetered on the edge of the net, before tottering onto Roderich's side. Lovi managed to catch himself in time, stumbling over to bump it over.

Lili stood shock still, petrified as the ball careened towards her.

"You can do it, Lili!" Gil shouted.

Swallowing a lump in her throat, Lili nodded, flailing a hand out and smacking the ball back into the air. Although her technique was questionable at best, she had managed to get it high enough for him to bump over. "Nice!"

The game continued for a bit, the teams panting and sweating as they batted the ball back and forth, their scores nearly tied. "14-14, game point both sides," Gil said morosely, making a face when Roderich shot him a gloating smirk. Mood soured, he hit the ball with unnecessary force, sending it spiralling straight towards his stupid face.

Roderich set it upwards, and Liz leapt up to spike it over.

Determined not to lose, Gil dove forward, hitting the ball to the other side. It sailed through the air, crashing towards Feli.

"Feli, watch out!" Liz shouted, watching, horrified, as it came closer and closer.

As oblivious as always, Feli didn't move out the way, giving the ball a dazed look just before it conked him on the head, sending him reeling backwards.

"Goddammit," Roderich swore, hurrying to catch him before he collapsed to the ground.

Liz crouched down, brow crinkled with worry. She shook his shoulders frantically. "Feli! Feli, can you hear me? Feli!"

"Ugh," he moaned, refusing to budge. "Dizzy...tired."

Gil and his team ran over to inspect the damage. "Do you guys think he might have a concussion?" Lili asked tearfully.

"It must be some sort of head trauma." Liz nodded sagely. "Anyways, just don't let him fall asleep, it could get worse. I'm gonna go get Ms. Braginsk so his mom can pick him up." She zeroed in on Gil. "I'm leaving the life of my precious baby in your hands. Screw up, and you die. Capiche?"

"Sheesh," he grumbled, "I got it, okay?"

She huffed, jumping to her feet and running back to that picnic area. "Honestly, that _chica_ ," Antonio remarked, faintly amused, "such a drama queen."

He rolled his eyes. "You can say that again."

They turned back to the problem at hand. A lump the size of a hard-boiled egg had appeared on his forehead, and he was still mumbling incoherently. Gil frowned, stroking his imaginary beard. "So, we just have to keep him awake, right? Anyone got a way to distract him? This kid's got the attention span of a flea, so we gotta think of something good."

Lili reached into her pocket, her eyes lighting up. "Aha! So I do have them with me!"

It was a pack of dog-eared Uno cards. Gil beamed at her. "Lili, you're a genius."

She was flushed with pride. "Oh no, it's nothing," she said modestly. "I have a little sister, so when we go to other people's houses, that's how we keep her busy."

"Doesn't make it any weirder," Lovi mumbled. "Seriously, out of everything you could carry with you, it's a pack of _Uno_ cards?"

"Don't complain. This might just save your brother's life." Roderich gave him a stern look, and propped Feli up into a sitting position. "Up you go, kid."

"Wha?" he said groggily, peering around at them with half-lidded eyes. "Tired. Where's my pasta?"

"You can have your pasta later." Antonio smiled graciously at him, and clapped his hands. "Alright, _chicos_. Let's get this party started!"

She nodded, motioning for them to get into a circle and dealing the cards. The game began with some difficulty, given the fact that most of them hadn't played the game since elementary school, but it worked reasonably well in pacifying Feli, who marveled at the brightly colored cards and exclaimed "oopsie!" whenever he made an illegal move. Much to their relief, Liz returned less than fifteen minutes later.

"Ms. Vargas will be here in a bit," she informed them, kneeling down besides Feli and tousling his hair. "Looks like you guys are having a blast."

"You got that right." Gil grinned, placed down a pair of sevens, one yellow, the other green. "Uno!"

"Dammit," Roderich cursed under his breath, looking helplessly at the six cards still grasped between his fingers. "What's wrong with this game?"

Despite the odd circumstances, the tension within the group had dissipated and everyone seemed to be getting along (or at least pretending to) for Feli's sake. Liz had brightened considerably after sitting behind Feli and peering over his shoulder, quietly giving him tips on what moves to make. "Okay, a red five here! Yeah, that's it. Go get 'em, Feli!"

Gil just shook his head, smiling in spite of himself.

High schoolers sure were stupid sometimes.


	8. Chapter 8

Gil plopped himself down on Liz's couch, putting a worn pillow in his lap as she sat down to join him. Katarina placed a plate of cookies on the coffee table in front of them, beaming. "Happy studying, you two!"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Liz scowled, grabbing a cookie and shoving the entire thing into her mouth. Her mother shot Gil a knowing look, before sighing and heading back into the kitchen.

"Now, what's with that attitude?" he asked, lips upturning in a little smirk. "Bad day?"

As difficult it was for him to admit, he had sort of settled into a routine. After the final bell rung, he would head to their daily club meeting, in which Ms. Braginski would try to stir them all into excitement by involving them in charity projects or discussing ways they could "better society" and "become civilized individuals." Once the meeting had been adjourned, he would follow Liz back home, his feet practically carrying themselves. They would sit down, eat something Katarina had whipped up for them, and hit the books.

It was like things had gone back to the way they were before, albeit with more bickering.

"Shut up!" She stuck her tongue out at him, but the gesture lacked its usual contempt. Fidgeting and averting her eyes, she blurted out, "So, um, how's your dad?"

"Oh, well..." Gil struggled to find the words to answer, thrown-off by her sudden question. "He, uh, couldn't find a job here, so he moved to Virginia. He works there now, and sends us money every once in awhile." Seeing the way her face fell, he shook his head, forcing a smile. "It's really not that bad. We rent half a a house from a family friend, and Ludwig and I both have part-time jobs, so everything's awesome! Really, it's all fine."

She nodded, staring pointedly at the cookie in her lap. "That's good. I'm glad to hear that."

Sensing that he had put a damper on the mood, he stuck a hand into his bag, sifting through loose papers and disorganized binders. "I've got great news!"

"And what would that be?" She raised an eyebrow at him, eager for a change in subject.

He handed her two crinkled pieces of loose-leaf paper. "I got a B on my history paper!"

Liz beamed. "Good job, Gil. Nice to know that you're not as stupid as I thought."

"What the hell are you talking about?" He gave her a stern look. "I've always been awesome! You're just jealous!"

"Of what?" She wrinkled her nose at him. "Your ability to burp the alphabet after you've had enough ginger ale? No thanks."

"You've gotta admit, that's pretty damn impressive." He grinned crookedly, lifting a heavy textbook out of his backpack with a grunt. After a good thirty seconds flipping through the monstrosity, he finally found the page he was looking for, pointing to a complex diagram. "I really don't get this, so could you explain this to me?"

"Um, okay." Elizaveta slid closer to him, tugging the book over so that it was halfway on her lap. He inched away, uncomfortably aware of her proximity; from this close, he could smell the faintest trace of strawberry shampoo in her hair, her sugar perfume. Determined to ignore it, he threw himself in taking notes as she launched into an animated explanation.

* * *

A few hours later, Gil glanced at his watch, his eyes widening in surprise. He tapped Liz on the shoulder, interrupting yet another lengthy lecture. "Sorry, but I really gotta leave."

She frowned at him. "Can't you stay for a few more minutes? I'm almost—"

"Nah, there's something I gotta do. I'm a busy guy, you now." He grinned, bounding to his feet. "Thanks, though. I pretty much got the idea. Keep up the good work, and you might become as awesome as me."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm flattered."

"No problem!" He slung his backpack over his shoulder, heading for the door. "See you tomorrow, Katarina!"

She poked her head out of the kitchen, her brow crinkling with worry. "You're leaving? Are you sure you don't want to stay for dinner?"

"Nah, I'm good!" He slipped into his shoes and opened the door, waving jovially. "Have a good night, you two!"

As the front door slammed shut, Liz sighed, shaking her head in disbelief. God, that guy could be so weird. It was plain as day that he was hiding something. And doing an immensely poor job of it.

_What an idiot._

She let out a huff of frustration, sliding into her denim jacket and tying her Converse sneakers up as fast as possible. "I'll be back soon!" she called out to Katarina, whisking out of the house before her mother could protest.

Liz shivered as she hurried down the street, pulling her jacket tighter around her. Squinting in the distance, she watched as Gil turned around a corner in the distance. Good judgment be damned, she sucked in her breath and began to walk faster, praying that her cringeworthy attempt at stealth wouldn't be a complete failure. God, she really hoped that she wasn't as loud as she thought she was.

Liz peered around a brick building, relieved to see that the figure was still ambling down the block, shoulders hunched. Cocking her head to the side, she pondered his peculiar behavior for a moment. She was almost one hundred person certain that Gil didn't live anywhere near this neighborhood, so what the hell was he doing?

She assessed her options. Follow him, or turn back?

As she watched him round another corner, she shook her head, hurrying after him.

Damn her curiosity for getting the better of her.

By the time she had started to seriously reconsider her decision, he had slowed down and was heading for...an empty lot?

What? She pinched herself, convinced she was hallucinating. As she blinked the pain away with watery eyes, she knew that it was no delusion: Gilbert Beilschmidt, class dunce and king of arrogant jocks, was kneeling down by the parched soil of the lot and, from the looks of it, searching for something in his backpack.

She inched forward. What the hell was he doing here, of all places? Should she report him? Call the police? And what was in his hand?

But what came out of the bag was nothing like what she had expected. On the contrary, it was—

A pair of rubber gloves and a rusty spade.

He pulled the gloves on with a resounding snap and flexed his fingers, before plunging his hand into the ground. When it resurfaced, a dandelion had been plucked up from its roots. He shrugged his shoulders, flinging it to the side, and repeated the process with a sort of steely determination, the likes of which Liz had never seen.

The image was so inconsistent with his reputation that Liz couldn't believe her eyes. _The_ Gilbert Beilschmidt, pulling weeds with nothing but his bare hands?

Liz shook her head, stepping into a streetlight. Leaning against the fence, she placed her hands on her hips. "So this is what you've been doing?"

He nearly leapt a mile into the air, whipping around to gape at her. Pointing a shaky finger at her, he spluttered, "Y-You—"

"Me," she said simply, prying open the gate and walking into the lot. "Care to tell me what you've been up to?"

Gil cocked his head to the side. "So you're my personal stalker now?" He laughed at the sight of her tomato-red face. "Why so embarrassed? Just feel lucky that it's me. Not all guys would take this so—"

"Oh, go fuck yourself," she spat.

"You're dodging the question," he teased. "So, you gonna tell me why you followed me or not?"

"Alright, fine!" She threw her hands up into the air. "You seemed sort of down when I asked about your dad, and then you were acting all suspicious and weirdly nice—"

"What are you talking about? I'm always nice!" Gil cut her off, indignant.

She resisted the urge to bash his head in. "You wanted an answer, didn't you?" Without waiting for a response, she continued, "Anyways, you seem too cheap to refuse dinner and you were in a rush so I thought something was up and that it had something to do with your dad and I keep trying to be nice to you and you just keep pushing me away so I wanted to find out what was bugging you!" she finished breathlessly, shooting him an expectant look. "Well?"

He burst into a fit of hysterical laughter, doubling over and clutching his stomach. His laugh was hiccupy and obnoxiously loud, the sort that could probably be heard within a ten-mile radius. "God, Liz, I was just surprised. You didn't need to get all defensive."

"I wasn't getting _defensive_." She scowled, crouching down to the ground. "Anyways, I think I deserve some answers. What the hell are you doing here?"

He gestured at the pile of dandelions. "I mean, it's sort of obvious."

"Um, not really. Just tell me."

"Swear you won't laugh."

"Come on, Gil."

Gil nodded solemnly, taking a deep breath. "I'm planting a garden."

All she could was gape. "A what?"

He shook his head. "I should've known you'd make fun of me."

"No, no, that's not it all!" Liz reassured him. "It's just-"

"It's hard to believe that the dumb jock Gilbert Beilschmidt would plant a garden?" he chortled, shrugging. "Yeah, figures."

"I- no, stop putting words in my mouth!" she protested, amending, "It's just, um, it seems unlike you. What are you gonna plant here anyways?"

"I don't really know yet." He shrugged, tilting his head up and gazing at the night sky. "Vegetables, flowers...I'm still saving money for it, whatever I can get, I guess. I don't have to plant them until spring, and I have plenty of time before then...so, yeah. I haven't really thought about it yet." He grinned crookedly at her. "So, what are you gonna do now? It's perfect blackmail material."

"Is gardening that much of an embarrassment to you?" she asked, uncharacteristically timid.

He pondered this for a moment. "I guess? But, you know, it'd be kind of bad if people at school found out.

"But I seem like the people I hang out with, right? I'm stupid, I get into fights, I can't get stuff that easily. But I guess I'm a little different? Maybe a little more awesome?" he quipped, smiling at the disgruntled look on her face. "I guess I'm not ready to do all of those 'grown-up' things yet. I kind of just want to be a kid again."

Liz tucked her legs into her chest, staring at the ground. "Same here. I don't want to make the same mistakes my mom made." She gritted her teeth. "What the hell was she thinking? Dating some random creep when she was still a freshman...it ruined her life. She could have graduated, gotten into college, followed her dreams. But no. It was all ruined. Just 'cause of that one mistake."

"Society's really fucked-up, huh?" Gil chuckled bitterly. "That got really personal, didn't it? I didn't think you'd ever tell me something like that. But if it makes you feel any better, I'll just say this— you wouldn't be here with me if your mom hadn't made that mistake." He cleared his throat, plowing on, "Things happen for a reason, I guess. Even if you did screw up some parts of her life— yeah, I guess you're right about that. But you know...you made it better. She loves you so much, you know. And if you weren't there, I-I wouldn't have gotten through...you know what."

At this point, the words just wouldn't stop pouring out of his mouth. "If you weren't there, I probably would've just killed myself. If you weren't helping me and stopping me from screwing everything up, I'd be expelled by now. So don't act like you're just a mistake, Liz. I owe a lot to you. A lot of people do."

A tear dripped down her cheek. She lifted a hand to wipe it away.

"Wow, I can't believe I just said that. Cheesy, much?" He let out a short laugh, but soon fell serious once more. "Can't we just...make up?"

He reached over to rest a hand against her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Liz. For everything."

She nodded, struggling to the find the words to speak. "Yeah...me, too. I'm shouldn't have held such a grudge against you. It's really sorry, Gil." Liz scooted over, hesitantly folding him into a one-armed embrace, giving his shoulders a brief squeeze before letting go.

"What about the garden?" she finally asked. "What are you planning to do with all of the stuff you grow?"

"Donate it to a foodbank? Give it to Katarina? I didn't really think about that." He shrugged.

She laughed, patting him on the back. "See? You can be pretty sweet sometimes."

"That's big, coming from you. I'm honored." He stood up, offering his hand to her. "Why don't we get you home? It's kind of cold out here, and even though my awesomeness is really hot and you're probably falling head-over-heels for me right now, I'd hate it if you got sick."

She allowed him to yank her back to her feet, sighing in relief when he draped his letterman jacket over her shoulders. "Are you sure you'll be okay?" she asked, looking worriedly at his jeans and threadbare t-shirt, as led her out of the lot and back to her apartment.

"Don't worry about me," he said cheerfully. "I'm sort of immune to the cold."

They lapsed into content silence.

"So, do you need any help with the garden?" Liz spoke up. "I...I wouldn't mind."

"Really? Are you sure?" He gave her a skeptical look. "You don't—"

"No." She halted in her tracks. "I will."

"Uh...if that's what you want." Baffled, he only smiled at her— a broad grin that made her heart skip the slightest beat.

And, looking back, Liz realized that that was the very day she began falling for the arrogant prick.


	9. Chapter 9

"Good afternoon, everyone!" Ms. Braginski waved her club members inside the science lab, beaming. "I have great news for you all!"

"I'm starting to wonder what 'great news' means to her," Arthur grumbled to himself, slouching further in his desk chair.

Gil snickered, sliding into the seat next to a yawning Elizaveta. Her gaze flitted to him, and she flushed a deep pink, averting her eyes and snorting.

"What's with that face?" He grinned impishly at her, resting his chin on the back of his palm. "Didn't we just make up?"

Liz crossed her legs, pointedly looking away from him.

Making the questionable decision to provoke her further, he leaned forward and gave her a playful flick on the nose. "Well, I was thinking, because of last night," he said, in a huskily low voice, "that we had a thing going on."

The corner of her mouth twitched. "Asshole."

"Alright! Are we all settled in?" Ms. Braginski raised her voice. The soft buzz of the club's idle chatter slowly faded, nine faces staring up expectantly at her. "Wonderful. Let's begin the meeting!" She smiled graciously at them, clearly relieved at their attention. "So, as I'm sure you are all aware, Halloween is fast approaching."

"Meow," Heracles murmured, still half-asleep.

"Thank you, Heracles." Ms. Braginski gave him a patronizing look, before giving a shake of her head. "Where was I? Oh yes, Halloween...well, I was thinking that we should do something special for the holiday! So, after plenty of thinking, I decided that we should hold a little Halloween party on the thirtieth!"

"Party, party!" Alfred cheered, taking a vigorous bite out of his turkey sandwich.

"Um, Ms. Braginski?" Elizaveta raised her hand, frowning. "Don't you think we're a bit too old for that?"

"Oh, sorry," she laughed. "What I _meant_ to say was that we could hold a party for the kids in the community."

Feliks stood up, slapping his hands on the surface of his desk. "Does that mean we get to wear costumes? I call French maid!"

"You _want_ to be a French maid?" Natalya scoffed, making a face. "Just how gay _are_ you?"

"Not nearly as gay as you," Sadiq quipped, ducking to avoid her stiletto throw of doom.

"Oh, man, costumes!" Alfred said excitedly, bouncing up and down in his seat. "If Feliks gets to be the sexy maid, can I be Superman?"

"Superman isn't supposed to be a fatass like you," Arthur said scornfully. "Maybe if you quit being such a _glutton—"_

"EVERYBODY, SHUT THE HELL UP!" Liz shouted, hands cupped over her mouth. She coughed delicately into her fist, turning to Ms. Braginski. "Please continue."

Ms. Braginski blinked owlishly at her irked club members, before turning back to her clipboard. She cleared her throat. "Well, the community center gave us the okay on using their gym for a short one-hour party...Mr. Vargas agreed to increase our club budget for this event, so that's covered." She looked up from her notes. "That's about it! I was thinking, that during today's meeting, we should come up with some ideas for activities. Don't hesitate to share anything that pops into your heads! There are no bad ideas."

Arthur raised his hand. "I think we could build a haunted house," he replied, a vicious smile sneaking up on his lips. "It would be bloody cool if we could get another room, and put up a load of skulls and other Halloween decorations and we could get Heracles to dress up as a—"

"Your creative idea is much appreciated, Arthur, but I don't think we have enough money to do something so...elaborate," Ms. Braginski interrupted him hastily, plastering a cheery smile on her face. "But we might be able do a simplified version of what you said. Maybe a play tunnel with a few decorations for the kids to crawl through?"

Arthur shrugged, slumping back into his stupor.

Feliks stuck his hand into the air, waving it in the air. "I have a painting kit at home and a book of designs, so I thought I could be in charge of a face-painting station!"

"That's a wonderful suggestion, Feliks!" Ms. Braginski exclaimed, jotting it down on her clipboard. "Do you need any supplies from us?"

"Nothing I can't get myself." He winked at her, flashing a thumbs-up.

"Excellent! So, Feliks for painting faces...anyone else want to give their two cents?"

Ms. Braginski called on Elizaveta. She sat up straighter, saying enthusiastically, "My mom's a really good baker, so we can ask her to bake fifty or so plain sugar cookies and make some frosting for us, so the kids could decorate them."

She made a note of it. "Sounds great! Elizaveta and Gilbert...cookie decorating."

"Wait, _what_?"

Liz clamped a hand on Gil's mouth. "Um, are you sure about that?"

"Yeah," Gil agreed, nodding vigorously. "We should have as many stations as possible, so, um, it would be a waste if the two of us just did one. So...yeah. Not the best idea."

"Not at all," Liz added for extra emphasis, hoping she would be able to take the hint.

But Ms. Braginski just frowned at them. "Why not? We're giving kids sugar and they need as much supervision as they can get." Arthur nodded, shooting the giggling Alfred a pointed look. "Besides, the more they wreck the gym, the more we have to clean it up. The center definitely won't be happy if they find a huge mess in there. Trust me, you're not going to want to clean that up."

Liz glowered at him, and he shrugged, mouthing an apology.

After an hour of prolonged discussion, the club had tentatively come up with several activities, including "pin the bow on the skeleton," mask-making, crafting pipe cleaner spiders, and learning some sort of Halloween-ish dance (courtesy of Alfred).

Ms. Braginski finished writing the last word with a flourish, placing the clipboard back onto the teacher's desk. "Excellent job, everyone! And now, to answer Feliks' question from earlier...yes, we will most certainly be in costume!"

"Oh, joy," Natalya grumbled almost inaudibly. Gil couldn't help but agree with her.

Ms. Braginski reached into her mesh bag, sifting through its messy contents and pulling out a crumpled sheet of paper. "Okay! The assigned costumes are as such..." She squinted at the looseleaf. "Alfred...Superman!"

"Hell, yeah!" he crowed, jumping up and down.

Gil sighed, turning to Liz. "The way she acts, you'd think that we were five-year-olds."

"Well, that _is_ pretty much the extent of your maturity _,"_ she replied snarkily, mood still sour.

"Ooh, sick burn!" he exclaimed, mockingly offering her a high-five.

Liz rolled her eyes, slouching further down her chair.

He congratulated himself, hoping she was assigned a bunny costume so he could tease her about it later, and maybe sneak a few photos to Roddy-boy. Anything to piss his Liz off and make her life that much more difficult.

"Sadiq— pirate, Heracles— cat."

"How fitting," Heracles purred sleepily.

"What did you just say, punk?" Sadiq snarled.

"I mean, you're a real villain."

"You little-"

Ms. Braginski cleared her throat loudly, effectively silencing the bickering pair. "Arthur— ghost, Lovi— mad scientist, Natalya— fairy princess-"

" _Fairy princess_?" Natalya interrupted, clambering defiantly to her feet. "What the hell?"

She giggled, her gaze dreamy and unfocused. "You'd be so cute in a little Tinker Bell outfit!"

Natalya cursed under her breath, collapsing back into her seat and burying her face into her hands. Gil felt a surge of pity for her, although the prospect of her in a tiara and tutu _was_ hilariously tempting. He couldn't help but laugh at the mental image, earning himself one of her death glares.

"And last but not least: Feliks— prince, Gil— Dracula, Liz— banana!"

Gil shrugged. "Pretty cool."

"Banana?" Liz groaned. "That's pretty much synonymous with 'misery.'"

"Wanna trade?" Natalya asked, hopeful.

Liz stiffened. "Fuck, no."

* * *

Gil gestured to a complicated math equation he had copied down in his notebook. "I don't really—"

"Which color do you like better?" Liz interrupted, lifting up two scraps of colored fabric. "For Natalya's costume."

"Um..." He pondered this for a moment. "Pink, I guess."

"Thanks." She pulled a crinkled notepad from her pocket, stealing Gil's pen to jot something down.

"Glad you needed my input." Gil cocked his head to the side. But seriously...you're still working on it? What the hell happened?"

"Nothing really." Liz gritted her teeth. "Just that that stupid brat didn't give me her measurements until yesterday!" She tore out a sheet of paper, crumpled it into a ball, and chucked it against the wall. "Ugh, this whole costume thing is just a pain in the ass! It's taking way too much of my time. School's getting crazy, I've got the SATs, the school concert's in less than two months, and what the hell am I doing? Making a fairy dress for a crazy pyro!"

After a moment of silence, he wordlessly handed her a cookie. She eyed it warily, before cramming the entire thing into her mouth.

"Better?" he prodded.

"Better," she said through her mouthful of crumbs. "Come on, asshole. Back to work."

* * *

She finished putting the last touches on his makeup, face scrunched up in concentration as she applied one more coat of foundation to his face. He scowled in discomfort, fidgeting in his chair. "Are you done yet?"

"Be patient! And quit moving around so much," she commanded, bending down to admire her handiwork. Seemingly satisfied, she handed him a mirror. Overly eager, he snatched it from her, hungrily drinking in the sight of his reflection. He looked awesome with his white hair slicked back with hair gel, dark circles ringing his eyes in black pencil.

"God, you're such a narcissist," Liz sighed, cramming the plastic fangs into his mouth. He made a gagging sound, glaring at her with watery eyes as he adjusted the mouthpiece. "Oh, quit being such a baby. Tell me, why did I agree to this again?"

"Because you're secretly a masochist," he said smugly.

"Ugh, remind me to never do this again," she groaned, helping him clamber to his feet. "Plastering makeup on guys really isn't my thing."

"Well, you're not exactly _good_ at it." Gil grimaced at her, sweeping his crimson cape over his shoulder.

Liz scowled at him. "It's not _my_ fault you wouldn't sit still!"

"Sorry I don't like getting my face ripped apart for a million hours," he grumbled.

"Hurry the hell up!" Natalya shouted from outside the room, banging on the door. "It's freezing out here!"

"Be there in a moment!" Liz shouted, before turning to give Gil a pleading look. "Oh God, please don't leave me alone with her."

He did his best not to laugh, flashing his vampire fangs at her. "Good luck."

* * *

Gil placed paper plates around the edge of the table, plopping a freshly baked sugar cookie onto each. Glancing around to see if anyone was looking, he not-so-discreetly stuffed one into his mouth, humming in satisfaction at the cinnamony taste."

"I saw that." Liz appeared out of nowhere, narrowing his eyes at him. "Greedy bastard."

"Whoa!" Gil whirled around, cookie crumbs spewing out of his mouth. He burst into laughter at the sight of her outfit, doubling over in a fit of hysterics. "Holy shit, what are you _wearing_?"

"My costume, dumbass." She crossed her arms over her chest, doing her best to appear defiant– well, as defiant as one could look in a banana outfit.

"You look gorgeous," he drawled, unable to keep the grin off his face. "When did you make it? It's seriously impressive."

"My friend's sister wore it last year, so I just borrowed it from her." Liz twirled a lock of chestnut hair between her fingers, fanning herself with the other hand. "Whew, is it just me, or is it really hot in here?" She was sweating profusely, face a lurid shade of red.

He leaned forward to better examine her, pressing his hand to her forehead before she could protest. "You sure you're okay? You're burning up."

She reddened even further, swatting his hand away and casting her eyes down to the ground. "I'm fine, idiot."

He gave her a dubious look, but let it go. "The demons'll be here soon, so help me set up."

Sure enough, within moments, a couple dozen children, after being kissed by their mothers, waddled into the gymnasium, gazing in awe at the paper mache decorations and the club members' elaborate costumes. The teenagers, on the other hand, forced frazzled smiles as the children were set loose upon them, dispersing to various corners of the gymnasium.

A pigtailed girl with a lollipop hanging from her mouth wandered over to their table. She stared at them for an unnaturally long time, her eyes wide and seemingly unblinking.

Gil had to admit that it was really unnerving. After a sharp jab in the ribs from Liz, he hurried to crouch down to her height, grinning at her. "Hey."

She nodded in acknowledgement, before looking down at the table and pointing a stubby finger at a pumpkin-shaped cookie.

Liz smiled graciously at her, pushing the frosting and a piping bag closer to her. "Go on."

The girl closely examined the materials, before giving a minimal shake of her head and scurrying off, stumbling over the untied laces of her Dora the Explorer sneakers.

Gil raised an eyebrow in her direction, watching as she joined the growing line of chattering children that wanted to "pin the bow of the skeleton. For some reason he couldn't quite place, he felt mildly offended. "So...remind me what the hell that was about again?"

Liz shrugged, still fanning herself. "Probably just the shy type? I have no idea. But I guess it's kind of cute."

"Cute?" He snorted. "Yeah, right."

A freckle-faced boy shuffled up to the table, a jack-o-lantern smile on his face. Liz immediately stepped forward, greeting, "Welcome to the cookie-decorating station! Glad to have you. Having a good time so far?"

He nodded, resolutely suckling on his thumb.

"Awesome!" Liz, a trooper as always, grinned, gesturing to the cookies. "You can use that to decorate the cookies any way you want! Just let your creativity out."

He removed his thumb with a faint pop. "You look funny."

Liz and Gil exchanged glances, but she waved it off, laughing. "Well, that's definitely true—"

He picked up the piping bag and, before either of them could react, squirted a thick strip pasty orange frosting onto her face. It splattered across her already colorful cheeks, draping across the bridge of her nose.

Gil scowled at the boy, starting forward. "Hey, wait a—"

Liz laid a firm hand on his forearm. "Hold on. I'll take care of this." She smiled at the boy, swiping a bit of frosting from her face and placing it on the tip of her tongue. "Yum. But, you know...frosting isn't that cheap, so I don't want you to waste it on me. You'd better use it on your cookie. They taste pretty great, if I say so myself."

The boy giggled to himself, grabbing a piping bag and drawing a jaggy smiley face onto the surface of his cookie. Liz, for how nice she was to Gil, was a natural, doling out compliments accordingly and exchanging food puns with him. Once he had finished, he munched at his frosted cookie, waving good-bye and padding away.

Upon seeing that he was gone, Gil grabbed a napkin from their stash and began to wipe the frosting away from her face. "Careful. Can't let you look more ridiculous than you already do."

She looked as if she wanted nothing more than to argue, but stilled, eyes squeezed shut as he cautiously dabbed at the frosting.

"Why so embarrassed?" he teased her, snickering when she made a strangled noise in response.

When eight PM swung by, parents began trickling in to retrieve their sugar-crazed children, thanking the club members for a wonderful time as they dragged their screaming sons/daughters out of the room. As their extensive clean-up session went on and time whittled by, Liz's cheeks became redder and redder, sweaty tendrils of hair plastered to her forehead.

Plucking up his courage, he eventually tapped her on the shoulder. "Um, don't take this the wrong way, but...are you sure you're okay?"

She glowered at him, stomping a foot on the ground. "Of course, idiot. I...I can take care of—" Liz keeled over, like a marionette whose strings had just been cut. Reacting as fast as his reflexes allowed him, he sank to his knees and caught her just before she collapsed onto the wooden floor. "Fuck," he muttered, angry at himself for not pushing against her stubbornness and forcing her to get help.

Honestly, that girl was a piece of a work.

He placed her on the ground, shaking her shoulders. "Liz! Can you hear me? Wake up!"

"What's wrong with her?" Natalya peered over from the next station over, still managing to look threatening despite her get-up.

"No idea," he grunted, propping her up onto his lap and feeling for the zipper on the back of the suit. His sweaty fingers just barely managed to grip it, pulling it down and easing the stuffy outfit off of her. "Can you get your sister over?"

Natalya took off, her high heels clattering against the floor. Within moments, a concerned Ms. Braginski was by Liz's side. She put a hand on Liz's forehead, frowning. "She has a really serious fever. I should call her mom. Do you mind staying with her for a bit longer, Gilbert? Natalya, get an ice pack from the first-aid kit. Quickly, please."

Before he could protest, Ms. Braginski pulled a cellphone out of her pocket and was dialing a number, pressing the receiver to her ear as she walked away.

He sighed in exasperation and turned his attention back to her. "You're an idiot. You know that, right?"

"Mmmm," she moaned, turning over and pressing her face into his lap.

"Stop it, you." Gil turned her over so she was face-up again. "Do you _want_ to suffocate?"

"Her mom's on her way," Ms. Braginski announced, Natalya by her side. She bent down beside Liz, placing the ice-pack on her forehead before standing back up. "Five minutes or so. She's getting here as fast as she can. Do you think you can carry her?"

He forced a smile. "Of course." After a few minutes of occasionally adjusting the ice pack and trying not to look as nervous as he felt, Gil placed a hand under her legs and lifted her up, winding her arm around his neck.

Ms. Braginski eyed him apprehensively. "Is that okay? Do you need any help?"

"Nah, I'm fine." Her head lolled onto his shoulder. He stumbled forward with the effort of carrying her, struggling to stay balanced. "God, what the hell do you eat?"

When she failed to give a coherent response, he told himself to pretend like she was a football. A teenage girl-sized football, that is.

They trudged through the hallways, the teacher scurrying nervously after them and babbling about hyperactive children and teenagers not being able to take care of themselves properly, and _god, she was just so worried—_

"Ms. Braginski," he said simply, already feeling a migraine starting. The weight of Liz was enough to occupy his mind.

She took the hint and shut up.

Katarina's banged-up Prius was parked in front of the center; she honked to get their attention, Gil wincing at the sound. Ms. Braginski rushed forward and opened the back door. Gil followed, brushing an old McDonald's cup off the worn leather before gingerly laying her down on the seat.

Her mother gave him a tired smile. "Thanks for your help, Gil."

"No problem." He fastened Liz's seatbelt before ducking out of the car. "See you tomorrow, Katarina."

She winked at him after he closed the door and drove away, tail-lights twinkling merrily at him before fading away in the distance.

He exhaled slowly, running his fingers through his hair.

She was _way_ more trouble than she was worth.


	10. Chapter 11

In the middle of yet another irksome tutoring session, Katarina stepped out of the kitchen with a tray of oatmeal and raisin cookies and two cups of lemonade, placing them on the coffee table. "Enjoy, kids!"

"Thanks, Mom." Liz lunged forward to grab one and immediately stuffed it in her mouth, letting out a hum of satisfaction. "Oh God, this is amazing."

Gil smirked at her over the papers splayed in his lap, picking up his lemonade and taking a tiny sip. "What, making sweet love to the cookie?"

"To be honest, that doesn't actually sound that bad…" Her face took on an expression of mock thoughtfulness. "Cookie porn. I can see it already."

"Great. Don't forget to give me some credit, though."

Liz wiped the crumbs off her face with a napkin, crumpling it up and tossing it in wastebasket. It landed neatly inside, on top of the accumulation of candy bar wrappers and tissues.

"Nice throw." He flashed her a thumbs-up.

She eyed him warily. Gil sighed theatrically, frowning. "It was a _compliment_ , Liz. Saying 'thanks' wouldn't be so bad, would it?"

"Yeah, like _you_ ever mean what you say." She stuck her tongue out at him.

He pouted at her. "Aw, that hurt!"

"Loser." She rolled her eyes. "Now shut up, because I have something to tell you." She cleared her throat, cheeks heating up. "Well, um, Lili's family owns the local skating rink, and she gave me a couple of free passes to skating night this Friday, and since Roderich is busy…" Liz inhaled deeply. "Willyougowithme?"

He gaped at her. The great Elizaveta, asking him if he wanted to go _ice skating_ with her?

He snickered to himself and, deciding to capitalize on this opportunity as much as possible, innocuously tilted his head to the side. "What was that, Liz? I didn't catch that."

"You know what I said," she grumbled. "Okay, fine. Dick. Will you go skating with me?"

"Aw, Lizzie...are you asking me out?" he taunted. "Cheating on your boyfriend with _me_? Didn't know you had it in you, Liz."

She rolled her eyes, though still noticeably flustered. "Don't get too full of yourself. It's just that he can't come with me, and it's couples' skating night, and I really don't want to go alone, since you know, it would be really, really, _really_ embarrassing, so…"

Gil contemplated this with a smirk on his face. If he agreed to it, he'd have an incredibly awesome opportunity to embarrass her. Maybe even the chance to rub it in Roderich's stupid face.

"Sure," he conceded. "Consider it a deal."

She let out a sight of relief. "Thanks, Gil. I owe you big time."

He reclined on the couch, smiling to himself. It had been an opportunity too perfect to resist.

Well, except for one glaring problem.

He had no fucking idea how to ice-skate.

* * *

After waiting in line for a solid twenty minutes, Liz smoothed out the wrinkles in the tickets and handed them to the bored employee. "Skating for two, please."

"You guys renting today?" he asked drily, gesturing to a crowded booth on the other side of the room when he nodded. "Just give your passes to the rental guys, and they'll set you up. Have fun."

"Thanks!" she chirped, grabbing his arm and dragging him over to a bench. "What's your shoe size?"

"Nine." Gil hesitated. He was already here with her, and since she had already gotten him to go, maybe she _wouldn't_ be embarrassed about being seen with him. Besides, what was the point of humiliating himself if he didn't get anything out of it? And, he reasoned, what better time to chicken out than now?

"You know...maybe I shouldn't skate. I'm kind of tired today—" cue the feigned yawn "—and you'll probably have a better time on your own, so—"

She smacked him on the head. "What the hell? The whole point of you coming with me was so that I didn't have to look stupid skating alone. So you're coming with me!"

He nodded hurriedly, watching as she stomped over to the rental booth ablaze in fury, muttering something about moronic boys and their inflated egos.

Gil sighed in defeat and plopped on the bench. It looked as if he'd have to stick it out. After all, how hard could skating possibly be?

Too soon, Liz had returned from the rental booth, taking a seat besides him and wordlessly tossing him his skates. He looked hopelessly down at the uncomfortable-looking plastic, watching her wriggle into her skates and buckling them with a snap. Gil cautiously copied her actions, but once his already frigid feet were shoved inside the skates, he had no clue what to do next.

Once she checked to make sure her feet fit snugly inside the blue monstrosities, she turned expectantly to Gil. "Well? Just make sure they fit okay and get going, and we can go."

He managed a crooked grin. "Easy there, princess. I'm just taking my time." Under her watchful eye, he slowly reached for the buckles, toying with the strips.

Liz clucked her tongue. " _Honestly_. You could have just _told_ me you didn't know how to put them on. Moron." She rolled her eyes and, before he could protest, bent down to fasten the buckles with quick precision. Within moments, she was done, squeezing the top of the skates. "Too tight?"

Gil shook his head. She wobbled to her feet, giving him a small smile. "Ready?"

 _Not really,_ he thought, but followed her to the rink nonetheless.

Liz waddled forward, gripping onto the walls before cautiously lowering herself down onto the ice. After steadying herself, she pushed off confidently, swaying left and right. When she realized that he was too petrified to follow, she whirled around with a loud scraping sound. "Come on, Gil!"

Plucking up every ounce of his courage, he stepped shakily onto the ice. He stood there for a moment, uncomfortably aware of just how _unstable_ it felt. It was like he was going to face-plant into the ice at any given moment. Which, of course, was probably inevitable anyways.

 _Come on, just go for it!_ he encouraged himself. _What's the worst that can happen?_

Remembering what Elizaveta had done, he gingerly took a step forward. Just as about as he was about to regain his confidence, he lost his balance, flailing his arms around and crashing onto his stomach. He blew a flake of ice out of his face. "Ouch."

"Shit," Liz muttered. She hastily skidded over, bending down to peer at him. "You can't skate, can you?"

He thought about laughing it off and insisting that no, of course he could— the floor just needed a hug. But instead, he sighed. "Yeah."

She sighed. "Jesus, Gil. You could've just said 'no'. I wouldn't have _asked_ you to come with me if I knew you were gonna get hurt. It was nice of you to lie for my sake and all, but really, this isn't _that_ big of a deal."

At this point, Gil was feeling kind of lame, repressing the urge to confess his ulterior motive of teasing her and seeking revenge for all the shit she shoved down his throat on a daily basis. But he felt too guilty to tell her the truth, so he just laughed. "Of course. I'm just that awesome."

"Don't kill it, Beilschmidt." She half-smiled, holding a hand out to him. "Get up, doofus."

When he hesitated, she puffed out her cheeks. "Come on, hurry up. People are starting to stare."

Gil looked around, surprised to find that she was right. Glowering at them, he grasped her hand and allowed her to pull him to his feet. "Okay, so, ice skating is basically like walking on ice, but more of a glide. So...we'll start with taking steps. Hold onto the wall."

She threw him an expectant look. "Well?"

"Wait...what the hell are we doing again?" He blinked owlishly at her.

Liz rolled her eyes. "You can't honestly think I'm gonna let you sit out just 'cause you can't skate, right? You're gonna learn, because I did _not_ waste my free pass on you so you could just fall on your ass."

"A little late for that."

"Whatever. Now, get walking!" She pointed vigorously at the wall.

Gil meekly did as she said, feeling extraordinarily stupid as he baby-stepped alongside the wall, nodding as she explained the mechanisms of ice-skating. He had waddled his way around the entire rink by the time she tapped his shoulder. "Okay, that was good…so why don't you try that without the wall?"

He gazed forlornly at what had been his constant, faithful companion for ten minutes of misery and pain, bidding it a teary farewell. Gathering up the last shreds of his dignity, he followed her instructions, scooting forward onto the ice.

"You're pretty good at this," Liz said approvingly. "Now, try putting a glide into it. You'll get the hang of it soon enough."

Exhaling shakily, he hesitantly pushed forward with his right foot, ice rough beneath the blades of his skates. He glanced back at Liz, who gave him an encouraging smile and thumbs-up. Shaking his head, he repeated the action until he found himself skating reasonably, albeit wobbly, well.

"You're doing it!" Liz shouted, hands cupped to her mouth. "Faster!"

Gil was grinning from ear to ear, the wind ghosting across his pink face as he raced around the rink. Liz only laughed and rushed to catch up with him, zipping past everyone else to nip at his heels.

He whooped in exhilaration, throwing his hands into the hair. "This is the best thing ever!"

"Told you so!" she shouted back, before abruptly scraping to a halt. Gil noticed this only a moment later, frowning as he gripped the wall to stop himself. "What's wrong?"

Needless to say, he was surprised to find himself face-to-face with a familiar bastard. "Well, I certainly didn't expect see _you_ here, Beilschmidt."

Gil, grinning to conceal his surprise, leaned nonchalantly against the wall. "Nice to see you too, Roddy-boy."

"Roderich—" Vash Zwingli approached his friend, about to tap his shoulder, but stopped in his tracks upon noticing Gil. "Who's this?"

Liz skated forward, gesturing to Gil. "Oh, you don't know him? He's the guy I'm tutoring, Gilbert Beilschmidt. Gil, this is Vash." He nodded gravely at him. "So...care to tell me what you guys doing here? I thought you had _plans_." She placed emphasis on the last word, forcing the words out through her gritted teeth.

Roderich waved his hand dismissively. "My piano lessons were cancelled, so I asked Vash if he'd go with me. If I knew you were free, we would've invited you, too. I mean, I'd much rather you go with us than _him_." He wrinkled his nose at Gil.

"Love you too, asshole," he grumbled, visibly miffed.

She looked as if she wanted to argue, but just gave him a shrug of her shoulders and another strained smile. "Well, sorry for bothering you guys. Let's go, Gil." Liz grabbed his hand and skated away, struggling to keep her face impassive.

Once they were a good distance away, Gil tugged at her hand. "Um...Liz—"

"What? What is it?" she snapped, scowling at him.

"I know I'm dead sexy and all, but...um, could you let me go?"

She released her grip immediately, wiping her hand on her pants and turning away. "Sorry. That was uncalled for."

"Nah, I get it." He decided not to push it. If there was one thing he learned from his incredibly limited dating experience, it was that girls were weird and hormonal and got really fucking moody when you least expected it.

The two didn't speak again for the next hour or so, staying a good several feet apart from each other as the surrounding couples cuddled and held hands, pop music blaring from speakers. It wasn't until about seven or eight when someone announced that it was time to leave, and everyone groaned, reluctantly filing out of the rink. It took a painfully long time for everyone to leave, and it was with great difficulty they found space on the bench to change back into their shoes.

She was scanning the crowd so intently, it didn't take a genius to figure out what she was looking for. Whether it was voluntary or involuntary, Gil couldn't tell.

"Um...are you okay?"

Liz kicked the skates off, practically shoving her feet back into her sneakers. "Sorry, it's just that...I don't know. It just pisses me off that he's lying to me— I mean, I _said_ I was free, so I don't get why he just didn't invite me, and…sorry. I'm overreacting a little."

If that wasn't an understatement of the year. Gil took a deep breath. "Well, um...just 'cause you're dating him doesn't mean you're the center of his universe or whatever. Guys need their alone time to just chill and, you know, take a break from everything. Trust me, Liz, it's nothing."

Liz pondered this. "Yeah, I bet that's it...thanks. I feel a lot better now."

Gil grinned slyly. "Oh, and by the way— don't get hung up every time he refuses to screw around with you. You'll come off as easy— that, or you'll be pregnant with your fifth child before I can fail my next pre-cal test."

She gave a wry smile, easing to her feet. "Huh. We'll have to see about that."

* * *

Arms laden with his lunch of soggy chicken tenders and canned green beans, Gil squeezed out of the kitchens, stepping out just in time to see his friends hurrying out of the cafeteria. Frowning, he stepped forward and tugged on the back of Antonio's shirt. "What's up?"

His friend turned around, sputtering apologetically, " _Lo siento, amigo!"_ He glanced nervously at Francis. "We've got extra football practice to go to! There's a really important game today, and if we win, we'll make it to the—"

"State championship. Yeah, yeah, I know." Gil sighed, shooing him away. "Go ahead. Sorry for keeping you."

Antonio took a hesitant step towards him. "Um, are you sure you're—"

"Yeah, I'm fine." He smiled, clapping his friend on the back. "Give the coach hell for me, okay?"

Antonio nodded, before taking off. _"Hasta tarde!"_

Resigning himself to his fate, Gil plopped his tray down at an empty cafeteria table, dejectedly nibbling his spongy chicken. Being off the football team hadn't felt this lonely since forever, especially when all your friends were on it and you had to face what every spineless freshman dreaded: sitting alone at lunch.

A tap on the shoulder snapped him back to reality. He nearly choked on his fruit cup when he saw who it was. "What do you want, Liz?"

"And you say _I'm_ the moody one," she grumbled, brown bag lunch dangling from her left hand, and pointed to the empty seat besides him. "Mind if I take this seat?"

"Sure." He shrugged, waiting for her to drag the seat to wherever the rest of her clique was sitting. Instead, much to his surprise, she tossed her lunch onto the table and slid into the seat, peeling the tinfoil off her sandwich.

He gaped at her. Mouth full of lettuce and tomato, she cocked her head to the side. "What's up?"

"Since when did you hang out with me during school?" he blurted out.

She was perplexed. "Um, better late than never, right?"

When he didn't reply, she sighed. "Okay, fine. Yeah, yeah, I know. It's just that...Roderich is at football, Vash is at soccer, Lili's getting extra physics help, and Feli's…okay, I have no idea where Feli is, but...anyways, I don't want to sit alone either, and since we're friends, I thought we could—" Her face turned beet red. She looked as if she wanted to furiously deny this, that duh, of course they weren't friends, but surprised him by nodding. "Yeah. That's right. We're friends. And friends...friends sit together at lunch, and help each other. Right?"

He looked glumly at his food. "I guess?"

"Good," Liz echoed, looking at a loss for words. "That's good."

Friends again...huh. That was new.

They lapsed into what seemed like an eternity of awkward silence. Finally, Liz reached into her bag and tossed a plastic bag of celery onto his tray.

He eyed it warily. "What's that for?"

"My mom told me to give it to you," she said, attempting to appear nonchalant. "She doesn't trust school lunches, and since you're an athlete and all—"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," he interrupted, opening the bag and cramming a stick into his mouth. "Thanks. These are pretty awesome. The chicken here is pretty gross, anyways."

"Yeah, I know." Liz nodded vigorously. "Like, what did they do? Toss a chicken into a blender?"

"Anything's possible."

She couldn't find anything to that, and they fell into silence once more.

"Oh, right...by the way...there's an emergency orchestra rehearsal after school today, so I'll probably have to cancel today's tutoring session. Is that okay with you? We could reschedule it, if you want."

"Nah, it's fine. Your life shouldn't revolve around me." He shrugged, before adding, "Not that I'm not awesome and totally worth it, though."

" _Right_." She raised an eyebrow at him.

"That's right." Gil jutted a thumb proudly towards his chest. "Gilbert Beilschmidt, at your service!"

She grabbed a soggy carrot off of his plate and threw it at his shoulder. "Liz uses crappy canned food! It's super-effective! Levels of egg-headed-ness severely depleted. Ego down." She grinned mischievously at him, bursting into such a hysterical fit of laughter he couldn't help but join in.

Doubling over and clutching their stomachs, their snorts and giggles mingled effortlessly with the sound of commonplace cafeteria chatter. And, as she buried her face in the crook of her arm and pounded the table with her fist, Gil couldn't help but feel that things were okay again.


	11. Chapter 11

Gil casually strolled down the crowded hallway, his hands stuck in his pockets as he whistled a quiet tune to himself. The day had been fairly peaceful so far— no fiascos involving incomplete assignments, a decent grade on his history quiz, no mud splashed onto his favorite pair of jeans— in his eyes, a perfect day.

Before he could round into his chemistry classroom, however, a hand shot out of nearby broom closet and grabbed him by the back of his hoodie. He grunted in surprise, trying without success to tug himself out of the person's grip. The door was soon whisked open, the hand yanking him inside.

 _Well, so much for a perfect day_ , he mused grimly as he stumbled into the dingy closet. It took only a moment for the smell of the place— a terrible combination of lemon cleaning detergent, mildew, and year-old burritos- to hit him full-force. Clamping a hand over his nose and groaning at the stench, he squinted at the culprit.

Much to his dismay, none other than Elizaveta Héderváry was sitting before him, looking about as dignified as one could when perched on top of an upturned janitor's bucket. He gaped at her, fully prepared to curse her out when she shushed him hurriedly. "I have to talk to you about something."

"Funny, never would have guessed," he said icily, glancing at his watch. "Anyways, do we _have_ to do this now? The period's gonna—"

"Oh, come on! You want to be a goody-two-shoes _now_?" she retorted. He was about to open his mouth to retaliate, but she sighed, cutting him off. "Just hear me out. It's important." When he didn't respond, she whipped out her phone, pulling up a screenshot from Facebook. "Just take a look at this. It's from that douche Feliks."

It was a blurry photo of Liz helping Gil up at the skating rink, caught in mid eye-roll. The accompanying caption read: "guess who I caught together on friday? :P"

"That little shit!" Gil leaned forward to examine the picture more carefully. He grimaced at the expression he was making in the photo. Couldn't have Mr. Pretty Princess chosen a better time to snap a pic?"

She nodded solemnly, pocketing her phone. "Just thought you should know." Her face contorted in a dark scowl. "You know...since the whole entire school thinks I'm cheating on my boyfriend!"

"What, so it's my fault now?" He wrinkled his nose at her. "Besides, I guess it's not really _that_ big of a deal. Just tell the assholes that we're just friends and you're still dating Mr. Doucheface and...problem solved. Also, if you want a guy to pretend cheat-on...really, I'm not the worst choice." Gil backed up a couple of steps, laughing sheepishly. "Anyways, it was nice talking to you, so if you'll—"

"Hold up...where do _you_ think you're going?" she snapped, shaking his arm. "This is serious business!"

Gil groaned, his arms going limp. She was _way_ too strong for a girl of her size— if she held onto him like this for much longer, he was gonna bruise. "Why is this such a big deal to you anyways?"

Liz hesitated, speaking tentatively, "Um, it's just that...well, ever since that day, Roderich's been ignoring me and spending a lot of time with Vash, so...I—" She faltered. "...I don't know. I just get the feeling that he thinks _I'm_ cheating on _him,_ and it upsets me, 'cause he doesn't seem to care, and-"

"I've always been kind of confused about this, so...why are you two dating again?" He arched an eyebrow at her.

She turned a spectacular shade of pink. "W-Well, last year he said I seemed cool and he'd like to get to know me better, so I said yes, because he was really, really nice and polite and we were both friends with pretty much same people, so we thought it would work out, and I guess it sort of did, but…"

"I feel like you're keeping something from me." He eyed her warily. "Is something up?"

"No, it's just that…I don't want him to think I'm cheating on him," she sighed, twirling a lock of chestnut hair between her fingers. "I've spent a long time trying to get his respect, and even now it doesn't seem like that much, so...yeah. I'd like to get somewhere with him. He means a lot to me."

"Okay, seem legit." He nodded absentmindedly.

"Just…" She trailed off, before blurting out, "Just do something so no one thinks we're dating!"

"Like what?" Gil asked tiredly, patience already beginning to wear thin. Girls could be so… _vague_ sometimes. It drove him nuts— especially when it was _this_ girl.

"Well, um, I...why don't you get a girlfriend?" She perked up, a manic glint in her eyes. "I could just set you up on a date with some girl I know, and you could go on a date, and I could spread pictures around, and then...yeah! That would be awesome!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa...slow down." He gave her an exhausted look. "Who said I'd do it? Seems like a lot of effort."

"Come on, Gil!" she pleaded, tugging at his shirt sleeve. "I'll do anything! Please!"

He pondered this for a moment, before shaking his head. "Why can't you just chill for once? Just stop giving a shit about what everyone else thinks. It's what I do most of the time, and to be honest, it works alright."

"Well, I'm—" she began to protest, before looking pointedly at her lap and saying in a much quieter voice, "I'm not like you, Gil."

At that moment, he almost felt bad for her. Almost.

Honestly, the amount of favors he had done for her recently was seriously stacking up. Well, having her owe him wasn't the _worst_ thing in the world.

He sighed, sheepishly running his fingers through his hair. "Okay, fine…getting laid doesn't sound _that_ bad."

"You really mean that? You'll really do it?" She brightened considerably, throwing her arms around him and pressing her face into his shoulder. "You're the best, Gil!"

Before he could make some witty joke about funny it was that she didn't want to be his hypothetical girlfriend and here they were, hugging in a janitor's closet, the door swung open.

A teacher with horn-rimmed glasses scowled at them, a clipboard pressed to her chest. "I'm sure you're quite familiar with our PDA, kids. Please canoodle at a more appropriate time and time, and get to class." With that, she clacked away, muttering something about lovey-dovey teenagers and their out-of-control hormones.

Gil smirked at her. "Yeah, Liz, looks like you can't keep your hands off me."

_SMACK!_

* * *

Liz plopped a can of peach yogurt in front of him, wiggling into a knitted Christmas sweater as she reclined beside him. After a pause of uncomfortable silence, she batted an eye at him, gesturing to the offending object. "Well? Eat up."

"You want me to eat _that_?" He flapped his arm at the yogurt. "No cookie for me today?"

"Ugh, quit being such a glutton!" She rolled her eyes and pushed it closer to him, shoving a plastic spoon into his mouth. "You have to look nice and skinny for the girl I set you up with. Do you _want_ to weigh two hundred pounds on your date? It's, like, the biggest day of your life."

He spit it out, glaring daggers at her. "Just get me the fucking cookie."

"You're not even gonna ask me who I got you on a date with?" She smirked, voice laden with thinly veiled amusement. "What kind of boy _are_ you?"

"Well, nothing can get between a man and his food." Gil shrugged offhandedly. When the remotely disgusted look did not leave her face, he let out a theatrical sigh. "Alright, fine, if you say so. What lucky lady's gonna have the privilege of dating the awesome me?"

"Bella Coppens." Liz pulled out her phone and showed him a picture of a tall, olive-skinned brunette in a pink cocktail dress. "She's a sophomore. And a cutie, if I say so for myself. Really, I could've gotten you someone much worse. I was just surprised that she agreed to it."

"Don't underestimate my charms. I'm a real ladykiller." He waved his hand airily, leaning forward to examine the picture. "Hm, I guess she's pretty...okay, so what time?"

"November 21st, seven P.M. We'll go to this small restaurant near my house. Pretty cozy, if I say so for myself." She hummed in satisfaction, clapping her hands together. "It's all done. Just show up, try not to seem as stupid as you are, and all our problems are solved."

"Just one thing." Gil wagged a finger impatiently at her. "I'm not going a date with some girl I've never met before alone. You're going to be there with me, and...how about you bring Roddy with you, too?" He snapped his fingers, his face lighting up with a devilish smirk. "We'll have a double-date!"

"Wait, wait…" She tensed, a look of crossing her face. "Um, you're joking, right?" When he just kept smiling mysteriously at her, she crossed her arms, gritting her teeth. "Okay, say if we _do_ do that...who's gonna take the pictures of you? We need someone to do that, or it'll be totally pointless."

"No biggie. Just get one of your buddies to do it." He grinned innocuously, kicking his feet onto the glass coffee table and nearly knocking the yogurt over. "Unless you don't want me to—"

"No!" she said frantically, before heaving a sigh. "Alright, fine. That shouldn't be a problem. I'll call up Roderich and see if the day's okay with him, and if it is...fine. It's a double-date."

"Awesome. Knew you'd come around," Gil chirped, pulling out a textbook out of his backpack. "Now, just one more thing…"

"What is it now, princess?" she asked scathingly.

"Would you get me a cookie? I'm starving."

* * *

Gil arrived, just as promised, a half an hour before the scheduled time. After telling a dazed waitress that he was expecting three others and finding a seat near the window, he sat and stirred the ice cubes in his iced tea.

The restaurant was quaint in its own right— a tiny place with flowery wallpaper and crystal chandeliers, pastel drawings of butterflies covering the walls. A blackboard scrawled on by powder blue chalk detailed the day's specials, the wood of the border decorated with cardboard hearts.

Bored enough to be intently studying the décor, Gil was relieved when the bell at the door jangled, startling him out of his half-daze. He looked up to see Liz hurrying over to him, wearing a ruffled lilac dress and a thick layer of pink lip-gloss. "Sorry I'm late," she muttered, sliding into the seat across from him. "How are you feeling?"

"Just as you'd expect." Gil traced the grimy cracks of the mosaic table with finger. "It's just a one time thing, right? I just wanted you to come with me so it wouldn't be as embarrassing. I mean, I don't even know this chick."

Cue the awkward pause.

She wet her lips, avoiding his eye. "Um, I just want you to know that...I'm really grateful that you're doing this for me. I know it seems kind of stupid to you, but—"

"Yeah, I get it," he said curtly, giving her a stiff nod. "Not everyone can be as awesome as me. Oh, by the way...any idea where Monsieur Photographer is?"

Liz glanced at the clock on the wall, lips pursed in a small frown. "I told him to wait outside for a bit, so we didn't look suspicious coming in together. Remember, you don't know him. I made sure to disguise him, just as a safety precaution."

"You're leaving out the most important part. Who—"

No sooner had the words left his mouth when the door was flung open, a familiar Italian posed theatrically in the doorway, a beret on his head and a mustache taped messily to his upper lip.

The gaggle of waitresses clustered together near the back of the restaurant looked as if they were doing their best to hold in their choked laughter. After several moments of whispered discussion, a jittery blonde girl was shoved the front of the crowd. Glancing despairingly at her giggling co-workers, she just barely managed to scurry forward.

Barely concealing her grimace, she squeaked, "Um, hello, sir. What—"

"Bonjour, my name is Pierre!" Feliciano said, in a horribly fake French accent, bowing so low his hat almost fell off. "I am tourist from…" He thought about it for a moment, scratching his head. "Moscow!"

Gil glanced at Liz, who had, in the struggle, buried her face in her arms. "Why the hell did you ask _him_ to do it?" he hissed.

She made a strangled noise. "No one else wanted to do it and he seemed really excited about it, so—"

"Are _all_ of your friends this stupid?" He watched as Feli almost tripped over his untied dress shoes, mustache slipping precariously down his lips.

"Like _you're_ one to talk!" she hissed back.

"I take seat!" Feli vigorously pointed to a small table near the back of cafe. The waitress couldn't find the words to respond, merely gesturing to the seat politely.

He turned around to give Liz a covert wave, face lit up by a dreamy grin. Liz forced a smile, flashing him a quick thumbs-up. Feli, seemingly encouraged by this, sat himself down and began enthusiastically perusing what appeared to be the restaurant's "alcoholic beverages" menu.

After fifteen minutes of sitting in a rather uncomfortable silence, Roderich entered the restaurant, a girl in a pink miniskirt and denim jacket behind him.

Liz jumped to her feet to give her a one-armed hug. "Hey, Bella. How are you doing?"

"Just fine. I've been looking forward to this," came her cheerfully simple response.

Bella held a hand out to him, grinning broadly as she sat down. "You're Gilbert, right? It's nice to meet you! I'm Bella. I've heard tons about you from Liz."

Gil nodded, wordlessly handing her the flowers. He felt a sharp kick on from under the table, suppressing a grimace as he cleared his throat. "You look great. It's nice to meet you, too."

Roderich gave him a curt nod, straightening his collar as he sat down next to his girlfriend. Liz watched him carefully from the corner of her eye as he paged through the menu, barely pausing to greet her.

A waitress tottered over to their table. "Good evening, ladies, gentlemen. What can I get you tonight?"

"Hm…" Liz rested a finger against her lip, eyes scanning the menu. "How about…a corn quesadilla with salsa and sour cream on the side? And, um...just ice water is fine." She closed it with a snap, handing back to the waitress with a quick smile.

After the waitress finished jotting down their orders in her yellow notepad, she murmured in assent, thanking them before running off to the back of the restaurant.

"So, Gilbert," Bella began, smiling. "Tell me about yourself."

"Oh, that's simple enough." Liz waved her hand dismissively, before he could even open his mouth to respond. "He's a cocky idiot with an ego the size of Jupiter. That's pretty much all you need to know."

"I second the motion," Roderich mumbled under his breath, almost entirely focused on his cellphone. Gil shot him an icy glare that he didn't seem to notice.

Bella was at a loss for what to say, hands fidgeting in her lap. She laughed nervously, "Um, well, I'm sure that's not the case. Gilbert seems like a very nice person."

Gil smiled triumphantly at Liz. "See? She gets it!"

"Hn."

"So, you were saying, Gilbert?" Bella asked hurriedly, in a hasty attempt to steer the conversation back on track. "What are you in to? I'd really like to know."

"Um, football is pretty cool," he said, inwardly grimacing at how stupid he must have sounded. "Other than that, nothing much...just your average guy Doing awesome things, zipping through life, the usual. Yeah. That's pretty much it."

His date seemed to be rather disappointed by the lack of conversation topics, but pressed on. "Oh, that's cool! I guess I'm not really that special either. I'm sort of just pursuing a lot of my interests at this point." She paused, clearly waiting for him to ask her more.

"Stop being so modest," Liz scoffed. "Seriously, Gil: Bella's more talented than half of our grade combined. Do you even _go_ to our school concerts? She rocks at piano."

"You're too kind, Liz," Bella laughed. "I definitely don't deserve that much praise."

"Oh please, you definitely do." Liz giggled, flicking the tip of her nose playfully.m "So, how do you know Roderich? I see you two together a lot."

"Oh, that?" she said cheerfully, brightening. "We do duets together sometimes, so we carpool to our lessons. We've been good friends for a long time too, so there's that. He's a much better musician than me, though." She glanced affectionately at Roderich, who merely grunted in response.

There was a sort of resigned tension in Liz's shoulders as she nodded. "Sounds awesome."

Their slow-moving conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the waitress, who placed their plates in front of them. "Enjoy your meal, kids!"

"Thanks," Gil mumbled, jabbing a fork into his chicken alfredo and practically shoving it into his mouth; he swore he had never felt hungrier in his entire life. "Oh my God, this is amazing."

Liz grinned triumphantly, sipping at her water. "Yelp never lies."

The group fell into content silence as they dug into their food like starving wolves— they _were_ high school students, after all.

Gil snuck a peek to his left. Feli was inconspicuously taking pictures of them, his mouth smothered in a mess of pasta sauce. He noticed Gil staring at him and gave him cheerful wave, before sinking back into his "persona."

"Well, it looks like your tutoring is going pretty well!" Bella piped up. "You guys seem to get along really, really well. Did you know each other beforehand? Honestly, it seems that way."

Liz almost spit out her bite of quesadilla, letting out a hacking cough as she gulped down most of her glass of water. After her fit had died down, she sputtered, "Um, well...we've known each other since we were kids, I guess?"

"Is that so?" Roderich asked, narrowing his eyes at her.

"It's nothing, though," she assured him, nodding vigorously. "We just kind of knew each other, and now I'm tutoring him, so...yeah. It's going smoothly enough." She let out a hiccupy laugh, adding, "When he's not being a complete dick, of course."

"That's understandable." Roderich smirked.

Gil felt strangely annoyed— and not just because of her back-handed insult. He sighed irritably, waving his fork in the air. "Actually, we used to be friends." He felt a strange sense of satisfaction as the corner of her mouth twitched. " _Best_ friends."

"I thought we were gonna drop it," Liz hissed. "What the hell are you doing, Gil?"

"Well, that doesn't mean you gotta lie to my date," he said loudly, batting his eyelashes at her. "What, does it embarrass you or something?"

"Um, what's going on?" Bella asked, her gaze flitting nervously between the two of them. "Guys?"

Liz fumed, glaring intently at him. After a few tense moments, she snapped, slapping her fork on the table and shouting, "Fine! Gilbert Beilschmidt and I used to be best friends! There! I said it!"

Silence. Everyone in the restaurant turned to gape at her. She cleared her throat, flustered. "Sorry about that," she muttered, turning back to her quesadilla in embarrassment.

Roderich delicately swallowed his final bite of chicken parmesan, dabbing at his mouth with the corner of a napkin, before letting out a little cough. He stood up to tuck his jacket under his elbow, bowing to them. "It seems like you guys have something to settle, and it _is_ getting kind of late, so...good night. Thanks for dinner."

Liz looked tremendously disappointed; it looked like she had a half-mind to follow him out of the restaurant.

Bella took a final gulp of her iced tea, before standing up and smiling apologetically. "Well, he's my ride home, and I have tons of homework, so...thanks for inviting me! It was nice to meet you, Gilbert." She flashed them a quivery smile, before hurrying after Roderich. The bell jangled as the two left, leaving Gil and Liz alone at the table.

Liz struggled to find the words to speak for a moment. "You're paying," she blurted, pushing her chair backwards with a loud screech and stomping towards the door.

"Wait, Liz!" he protested, but she had already disappeared.

A loud clicking sound sounded from behind him. Feli was giggling to himself, snapping photo after photo with his clunky digital camera. Gil shook his head forlornly. "Just go home."

* * *

The next day, after reading the note poking out of his locker, Gil once again found Liz in the janitor's closet, sitting on the same upturned bucket as the last time. She glanced away when the door opened. "Hi."

"Hey." He nodded at her, baffled as to why she had requested he meet her here, considering last night's disastrous double date. "What's up?"

She fidgeted for moment, taking a deep breath. "I thought about what happened last night, and...yeah, you're right. You've always been right, really, except when you're not, of course...but that's not the point!"

He nodded approvingly. "I like where this is going."

Liz opened her mouth to retort, but just sighed. "I really shouldn't care about my image so much. What matters is if I'm happy, and if the people around me are happy, and if I think I'm a good person and, honestly...why should I care about what everyone else thinks?" She took a deep breath, saying carefully, "So, all I wanted to say was...sorry for dragging you into this and lying about...well, everything!"

She made a sweeping gesture, before hanging her head, faltering. "Anyways, you totally didn't deserve that, and I'm a complete bitch who made you pay for dinner even though you didn't want to go anyways, and…I'm sorry. You've been really nice to me all along, and all I've done is force you to do really weird things, and I want us to be friends, so...sorry."

Gil was taken aback by her abrupt, albeit rambling, apology. "Um, wow...I wasn't expecting that, but—"

"Don't be such a jerk!" she snapped. "What do you think I—"

"Thanks," he cut her off, leaning forward to tousle her hair. "I'll see you later."

"Um, yeah...sure." She blinked a couple of times, stunned as he ambled out the broom closet, whistling to himself and not even trying to conceal the goofy grin on his face.

After all, it just happened to be the perfectest of perfect days.


	12. Chapter 12

Gil hopped off his bicycle and chained it to the front gate of his house. The breeze ruffled his maroon and white letterman jacket as he made his way up the worn stone porch, fingers absently-mindedly trailing across the metal railing. Glancing to his right, the light of the living room glowed softly from behind the tightly drawn, mothy curtain. He sighed, resigning himself to the ordeal of facing his younger brother as he reached into his pocket for his key, and—

The door was flung open, nearly smacking him in the face. Gil stumbled backwards, cursing under his breath.

Ludwig, the half-light of the lamp casting sinister shadows on his face, stared at him. "Hello, Gilbert. You're back late."

"Hey, Ludwig." He choked back a gulp, smiling nervously as he leaned against the bookshelf. "Yeah, I guess. Ms. Braginski and the club had a thing. It was just sort of doing dumb relay races in roller skates to raise money for underprivileged kids to celebrate Thanksgiving, and it lasted a little longer than expected, so, um—"

"I see," he nodded curtly, turning away to sit back down on the couch. Papers were strewn all over the patchwork fabric, an empty salad box perched on top of the coffee table.

_This is our Thanksgiving, huh?_

"Oh yeah," Gil said suddenly, rummaging through his backpack to pull a plastic container out of its jumbled confines. "This is from Ms. Braginski- unlike most people, she doesn't want us to starve." He tossed the box of store-bought turkey, clumpy cranberry sauce, and measly stuffing in his direction. "We can make sandwiches if we want— it's a pretty good idea. Some people even put potato chips in them, to get rid of their leftovers. Pretty cool, huh?"

"Cool in that we're all going to be fat Americans when we grow up? Sure," he cut him off, eyeing the Tupperware warily.

"Um, when you put it—"

"I heard about your garden."

Gil unconsciously flinched away from his piercing gaze, feeling a quick burst of frustration towards his younger brother and his ability to make Gil's every attempt at trivial conversation into CSI fucking Miami; they were just talking about _Thanksgiving leftovers,_ for Christ's sake.

He laughed uneasily, running his fingers through his hair. "You got me. Who spilled the beans this time?"

"Elizaveta."

Gil seethed. That traitor!

"I was rather suspicious when she asked me if I knew anything regarding botany that would grow in Zone 5 and my ability or lack thereof in using a pair of garden shears," Ludwig said breezily, fixing his attention back on shuffling a set of papers around. "So I just asked her about it, and she told me you found an empty lot and that she'd decided to help you out with whatever you'd been planning. I've wanted to ask you about it for a while, but just never found the…right time."

"Is that all you wanted to say?" He gnawed at the inside of his cheek.

"I never knew you were interested in gardening," Ludwig said, almost pensively.

Hold on a second: Ludwig, _pensive_? Those two images simply didn't match up.

Gil decided to go on the defensive. "Does that mean you don't want me to, or whatever?"

Ludwig was unperturbed. "Did I say that?"

Okay, this conversation was getting really exasperating. "No, I just—"

"Is there some other reason why you're gardening, then?"

Gil struggled to piece together a response, before sighing. "No, not really. I just sort of...jumped at the chance. Without thinking about it, really. Impulsive, yeah, I know. It's 'cause, well, there isn't much room here, and the old—"

"As long as it doesn't get in the way of your schoolwork or club activities, I don't have a problem with it." Not meeting his eyes, he scrawled something down on a sheet of fresh loose-leaf. "And, of course, as long as it doesn't fall outside of our budget."

Something about the response irked him, and suddenly, his mood soured. "I wasn't _asking_ for your approval. Can't I make decisions myself, for once?" he spat.

Ludwig shrugged his shoulders. "Just thought you wanted to know. I spend enough time bossing you around, I suppose. It's just kind of strange. Gardening never seemed like your thing."

"Yeah, you'd think that," came his stubborn reply.

They fell into uncomfortable silence.

"Gil!"

The two brothers glanced over to the source of the voice, where Liz, wrapped in a thick winter parka and striped scarf, was panting heavily, standing in the doorway. Her gaze flickered from Gilbert to Ludwig. "Um, hey, guys. I was—"

"Hello, Elizaveta." Ludwig pushed his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose. "What brings you here?"

Liz shifted uneasily from foot to foot. "Well, Mom wants to know if you guys want to come join us for Thanksgiving dinner. My grandparents couldn't make it this year, and it would just be the two of us otherwise, so—" she paused, before continuing, "—of course, unless you two have other plans, I'd hate to-"

"I'm afraid I can't," Ludwig said, unapologetic. "I have to catch up on some student council work— you know how it is, Elizaveta. Thank you for your offer though."

When was the last time they had had a proper Thanksgiving dinner? Since Mom had died? Since Dad had stopped caring?

Gil felt a pang of guilt at the thought of Katarina and Elizaveta sitting in their tiny apartment, all alone with a turkey just because of some guy Liz never knew. A sizzling, golden-skinned turkey, sitting on a pristine white platter in all its-

"I'll go." He smiled at her. After all, he couldn't miss a chance to one-up Ludwig in somesthing. Making sure to keep an eye on his brother the entire time, he added a drawn-out "thank you, Liz" for good measure.

She blinked owlishly at them. "Um, okay."

Gil made a point of forcing a grin at Ludwig. "See you, little bro. Have fun with your work."

Not even meeting his eyes, he nodded curtly and grunted in response.

Turning back to the confused girl behind him, he gestured courteously towards the door. "Ladies first."

Liz arched an eyebrow at him, but shook her head to herself, stepping out into the crisp, late November air. He slipped out behind her, quickening his footsteps to keep up with her as they started down the street.

"It's getting pretty cold," Gil noted, watching as his breath vaporized into milky wisps.

She made a small noise of assent, kicking a misshapen pebble around. It skittered across the pavement, before a clumsy brush of her sneaker sent it spiraling onto the asphalt.

"You got a real kick out of that, didn't you?" she asked softly.

"Hm?" He gave her a sidelong glance. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, you're acting even more douchey than usual," Liz's said. "I know he's not your favorite person in the world, but seriously, it's not like the poor guy was trying to spite me or something. You don't need to be better than him at—"

"Better than him? Like I give a crap about that."

"Gil. Listen to me." She stopped in her tracks, laying a gloved hand on his forearm. "Give him a chance, will you? He cares about you, but you know Ludwig— he's just weird about showing it. You know, keeping up the whole student council look. He's not supposed to take shit from anyone, especially from his brother. He's stressed, okay? And part of the reason is you. Not only does he have to worry about his schoolwork and responsibilities as prez, he also has to make sure you don't get the axe when _you're_ the one who's supposed to be watching out for _him_. You're all he has left, Gil."

"So...is _that_ why you told him about the garden?" he asked, struggling to keep his voice level.

He felt her stiffen. She nodded slowly. "You're like strangers. It's hard for me to see you two like this— I mean, he doesn't even know what you're into it. That must really hurt. I don't have any siblings, but I can imagine what it must feel like, being so far apart that you liking gardening is an honest-to-god _surprise_ to him. He tries _so_ , so hard, Gil. But the only you he knows is the dumb jock, the one who flunks every test and gets into fights just 'cause he can't control his temper. The guy who can't do the one thing he's good at so just he can prance around with a band of even suckier losers for extra credit."

She paused, turning her head to stare him down. "Well, Gil? _Is_ that you?"

He couldn't speak.

 _What do you know about me?_ he so desperately wanted to scream.

But the words wouldn't leave his mouth.

"Thought so." Liz took a deep breath. "Wanna know the Gil _I_ see? He may be a dumbass sometimes, but he can be smart when he tries. He comes across as a douchebag, but he's just trying to be nice. He can make a funny joke once in a while, gets Bs on history papers, plays football like nothing you've ever seen before, and isn't half-bad at gardening. He can burp the alphabet, screws around with me when trying to cheer me up, treats my boyfriend like shit sometimes, but is still sweet in his own weird way. Even though he doesn't always make the right decisions, and that might have caused some bumps along the road...well, he's there, Gil. Inside and out. Take him out of hiding and show the world just how awesome Gilbert Beilschmidt can be."

Next thing she knew, she was face-first into his warm chest, his arms wrapped tightly around her shoulders. She stiffened on impulse, but relaxed, tentatively patting his back.

"Thanks."

* * *

Katarina was positively beaming as she flung open the door before he could even knock. Bouncing on the balls of her feet, she stood on tiptoe to peck him on the cheek. "Gil, it's so nice to see you!"

Liz rolled her eyes, trying to suppress her smile. "You saw him less than four days ago, mom."

"Doesn't mean I miss him any less!" She winked at him, before flouncing to the dining room, pulling out the two chairs closest to her. Giving the seat cushions a reassuring pat, she gestured to the table. "Sit, sit. I made sure to go all out this year! Maybe I did a bit too much experimentation considering the fact that we have a guest, but I do need a few fresh opinions. Lizzie just says everything is okay and my parents tell me—"

Her daughter cleared her throat loudly.

"Oh, yes," Katarina giggled. "Sorry, getting ahead of myself again. I'll get the food— please, just make yourself at home." She pranced into the kitchen, humming merrily to herself.

"Geez, does that woman ever relax?" Liz sighed.

"I heard that, dear!"

She rolled her eyes.

"I think it's nice." He smiled dumbly at his lap, toying with the corner of the flowery tablecloth. "I'm excited, though. Thanksgiving dinner sounds awesome."

"Oh, you flatter me." Katarina poked her head out, grinning. She sidled out the kitchen, her arms laden with an entire turkey, its skin crisp and glistening with beads of oil.

She placed it on the table, humming contentedly at their reactions, before dashing back into the kitchen.

Liz let out a low whistle. "God, she really outdid herself this year. Mom doesn't usually buy this much…" She paused, before pursing her lips.

"Is something wrong?"

Katarina came out with a giant bowl of creamy mashed potatoes and a plate of green beans, setting it down before returning to the kitchen.

"It's nothing," she blurted out, a bit too hastily not to pique Gil's suspicions.

"Um, if you're—"

"And we're done!" her mother chirped, placing the cranberry sauce and stuffing on the table. After she had finished arranging everything, she sat down, smoothing down her skirt and beaming at them. "Before we dig...why don't we take turns saying what we're thankful for? I'll go first."

She exhaled slowly, placing her open palms on the table. They all held hands. "I'm grateful for the food on this table, for the wonderful home I live in, for the things I take for granted everyday. And of course, for my beautiful daughter, Elizaveta." She smiled at her and squeezed her hand. "I thank God that you're here every waking moment, for always supporting me through everything. You're so headstrong, independent, kind. I couldn't ask for a better daughter."

Liz nodded wordlessly, her eyes glistening with tears. "I guess it's my turn now."

She reached across the table to take Gil's hand, still holding on to Katarina's. "Well, where to begin? This year's been kind of weird— a lot of old things, but of course, good things too. I'm grateful for my amazing mom, who's always managed to be my personal cheerleader through everything. Hm...I'm also grateful for my boyfriend, Roderich, and my friends— Lili, Vash, Feli, Ludwig— they're all incredible people, and they mean everything to me. I might be crabby sometimes, and say things I don't really mean, but...I thank them for everything."

"Anything for Gil, sweetie?" Katarina pressed, a hint of a smile on her face.

" _Mom_ ," she groaned, rolling her eyes. However, after a couple of meaningful looks, she sighed, turning to face him.

"Gil...as you know, we have a bit of history. Maybe what broke us apart was your fault— sugar coat it all you want, but it's the truth. But honestly, Gil, I was partly to blame. Can I really hold you to something you did years ago, when we were just dumb kids? I was just being ridiculously stubborn. What we had together meant the world to me, Gil. Stupid stuff like our middle school problems, they shouldn't have torn us apart so easily. Things might not go back to the way they were back then, but...know that I'm glad we were able to put that behind us and become friends again." She smiled shyly at him, squeezing his hand.

They looked expectantly at Gil. He searched his mind wildly, taking a deep breath. "You two pretty much said it all. Here's to my bro, Ludwig, for being a pain sometimes but always trying to watch out for me." He swallowed back a gulp, locking eyes with Liz, who nodded encouragingly. "My dad, too. I know things are hard for him, but he sends us his support all the time. I guess I never stopped to appreciate all he's done for us. And well...to the old hag. Not anyone would have offered two dumb high schoolers to rent out her house. It must have taken a lot of guts. Here's to my buddies, Francis and Antonio, this great-looking turkey, you and your mom, Liz...and well, just everything I'm blessed to have."

There was a moment of silence.

"You've grown up, haven't you?" Liz asked softly, staring at her empty plate.

"And?" Gil cocked his head to the side, grinning. "Something wrong with that?"

"Of course not." A broad smile spread across her face as she reached for the mashed potatoes. "Let's eat."


	13. Chapter 13

"New project, starting now!" Ms. Braginski clacked into the classroom, grabbing a piece of chalk. "The holiday season is coming up, and we have plenty of work to do!"

"Ugh, don't remind me." Arthur banged his head on his desk, groaning. "Not even us Brits are this wild about Christmas— I can't even turn on the bloody radio without getting some shitty Christmas jingle!"

"Shitty?" Feliks exclaimed, readjusting his magenta Santa's hat. "They're classics!"

Natalia scowled darkly from her perch, lounging on a lab table. "It's not 'Christmas', remember? We call it the _holidays_ now."

"Oh, go screw yourself!" Alfred piped up, turning around to peer at her. "Nice view, by the way."

He ducked as a black stiletto came flying at him. Natalya humphed, turning around to smooth down her skirt.

"Oh? What're you gonna do now?" Lovi smirked, resting his cheek against his hand. "Blow up the entire school?"

"In case you've forgotten, I _have_ another shoe!"

"Ready to jingle your bells?" Heracles murmured drowsily, his face buried in the crook of his elbow.

The entire classroom fell to a hush.

"Moving on!" Ms. Braginski cleared her throat, reaching for her notes. "For our holiday project, we'll be singing and providing entertainment for the Thornwood Hebrew Nursery Home with the help of football team!"

"Football team?!" Gil spluttered.

"Nursery home?!" Alfred wrinkled his nose, folding a paper airplane. "Does that mean we have to hang out with _old_ people?"

"Ugh," Feliks groaned, flipping his hair over his shoulder. "old people totally kill my feng shui! They, like, stop me from harmonizing with my surroundings! And besides, they stink; if we're gonna help them at all, we might as well give them some Chanel perfume."

"Dude," Natalia deadpanned, "I'm a girl, and even _I_ don't wear perfume.

"You call yourself a woman?"

"Wanna go, three tits?"

Gil sighed as he watched the chaos unfold. In this situation, dealing with the elderly was the least of his worries.

He glanced to his left. Liz, her brow furrowed in concentration, was embroidering a Christmas tree design onto a swath of beige cloth. She threaded a long green string onto her needle, clucking her tongue impatiently.

"What's that for?" Gil asked, leaning over.

She glanced at him irritably. "Christmas present for my mom. Homemade placemats."

"Ugh, Christmas is such a drag," he complained. "It's the world's biggest guilt-trip, you know? I never know what to— oh, that reminds me. D'you know what Lud would want?"

Liz gave him a patronizing look. "Why are you asking me? _You're_ his brother."

"Well, you guys are pretty friendly." Gil settled back into his seat, kicking his feet on top of his desk. "Sorry, just thought I'd ask."

"It's fine." Her gaze flitted away from him. "Does he usually get you something?"

"Well, yeah, he has a couple of jobs. Starbucks, plus part-time at some candle shop every other week," he said idly, eyes glued to a crack in the ceiling.

"What does he usually get you?" she pressed on, muffled by the yellow thread clamped between her teeth.

"Oh, pretty standard stuff." He shrugged. "SAT prep textbooks, fancy air freshener, sweaters. Yeah, stuff like that. I just end up getting him cheap chocolate or something."

"At least you're trying," she said calculatingly. "So, why the change?"

"Um, it's just that…" He trailed off. "It's like you said. On Thanksgiving, I mean. He's trying, so I should, too."

"Hm." She allowed him a tiny smile.

Ms. Braginski waved her arms around in a desperate attempt to get her club members, ridden with holiday fever, to pay attention to her. "Everyone! Settle down!"

Liz muttered something unintelligible under her breath before standing up and screaming, "Shut up!"

"Thank you." Ms. Braginski smiled wearily at her. "As I was saying— a concert at the Hebrew Home. We'll perform a bunch of songs, like Broadway and popular Christmas songs— something that they can enjoy. If you have any other ideas, please don't hesitate to bring it to me or Elizaveta!" She began to pass out a stack of papers, which her club members stared at with a mixture of horror and dread. "Oh, and another thing: we have solos open!"

"Singing. Hooray." Gil rolled his eyes. "Got any experience?"

"Um, not really." She picked at her stitches. "No. You?"

"Eh, wouldn't call it experience." He shrugged. "I sort of sang in elementary school. Remember?"

She flinched. "Yeah, yeah. Sort of."

Considerably more than just sort of; he'd sing nursery rhymes as they hung upside down from the monkey bars, make up songs as he banged frumpily on the piano, gurgle commercial jingles, and—

"What's with the long face?" Gil smirked, shaking her out of her thoughts.

"N-Nothing." Her cheeks flushed pink, and she quickly changed the subject. "So, with the football team, huh? Who knew? Got an idea why your coach would put them up to it?"

"Nope." He narrowed his eyes at her. "I don't really care about that, though— I just can't wait to hear your Roddy's angelic voice. Coach is a goddamn genius."

"Yeah, it's kind of weird," she agreed. "Music, well...it's one of the things we- me and Roderich, I mean— can't ever agree on. He's so...intense about it— I'll just don't get it. He's always looking for some deeper meaning behind it, and he gets kind of super pissy when I distract him. I swear, eighty percent of our conversations have something to do with how I don't really want to do that much music in college, him going to some conservatory in Austria and us not being able to see each other, yada yada. I just wish he'd chill sometimes, y'know?"

"He's thought ahead that far?" He raised an eyebrow at her. "It's kind of weird of him to have all of these crazy high expectations of you. I mean, how douchey is that? He can't expect you to like him forever, can he?" Gil stopped, realizing what he'd just implied. "Um, well, I didn't mean-"

"But you did." Surprisingly, she didn't sound angry, just nonchalant. Everything from her pursed lips to the crinkle between her eyebrows gave an air of studied neutrality— something she picked up from Roderich, maybe?

He shook his head, forcing himself back into reality. "Sorry—"

"Just drop it." She accidentally pricked her fingers with the needle, drawing a tiny droplet of blood. "Ouch."

He pulled the cloth away, smiling coyly. "Wouldn't want you staining Katarina's present, hm? She might think it's the blood of your enemies."

"Huh." She avoided his gaze as she suckled at her finger. "I'll probably have to do it over, anyways. I suck at this sort of stuff."

"You seem alright." Gil ran his hand over her painstakingly neat stitches. "She'll appreciate it, anyway."

"Um, thanks," she mumbled, pointedly looking away from him.

"Yeah, yeah. No problem."

* * *

"Alright, everyone!" Ms. Braginski clapped her hands together, wiping the sweat from her brow. She triumphantly placed her hands on the hips; the pose of a worn soldier, Gil thought in faint amusement. "Good job today! The next few meetings, we'll rehearse our program! Club dismissed!"

"Singing was definitely not what I had in mind when joining this stupid club," Arthur grumbled, slipping his hands in his pockets and slouching towards the classroom door.

"Well, then what?" Natalya demanded as the group trudged down the deserted halls. "The woman's my sister, after all." She tilted her head to the side and pouted girlishly, mimicking, "Haste makes waste, Nattie! Always put someone else's needs before your own! The great Confucius said—"

"Yeah, yeah, we get the point," Lovi said scathingly. "I'm with Arthur— yeah, I didn't know what to expect— maybe carrying a few boxes around and shit- but singing is definitely not my thing. I told the old fart I didn't want to join the stupid club, but all he did was spout some crap about becoming a functioning member of society or something. You have _got_ to be shitting me."

Sadiq let out a low whistle. "Yeah, being related to the principal must be tough."

"Excuse me?" Natalya protested shrilly. "What about having your own sister— your own sister—run a club for _delinquents_? My own sister, calling me a _delinquent_. Like, what the hell has the world come to?"

"But seriously," Feliks said solemnly, "she has a killer fashion sense."

The two began bickering ferociously- something about eating tampons.

"Ugh," Liz moaned, falling into step with him. "Do those two _ever_ stop?"

Gil shrugged. "All I want to know is if the story about her torching her neighbor's mailbox is true."

She rolled her eyes. "You shouldn't believe _everything_ you hear."

The group of students left the building, mumbling their respective farewells before slowly peeling off. Gil and Liz walked down the sidewalk, leaving campus just as the sun dipped below the horizon, bathing the earth in pale orange twilight.

"I think you should take a solo."

Gil gaped at her for a moment, before laughing. "Might as well call this the road of revelations. What, now? You gonna tell me you're pregnant now?"

"It wasn't a joke," she said slowly, feeling something like resentment nip at her stomach. "Why can't you ever take me seriously?!"

It came out more biting than she'd expected it to.

"Okay, fine." He threw his hands up in frustration. "How's this for a solution? You stay out of my personal business, and I'll stay out of yours. I mean, we'll only end up pissing each—"

Her fist connected with his face, sending him stumbling backwards. He gasped, more in shock than in pain. "What the hell was _that_ for?!"

Her chest heaved up and down as she turned around to face him, her shoulders trembling. "God, you're just so selfish. You didn't think of that when you were going on Roderich, did you? And all the other crap hat wasn't your business? How do you think _I_ felt?

"It's always you, you, you!" She stamped a foot on the ground, sending gravel scuttling across the curb. " _Your_ garden, _your_ brother, _your_ grades! Ugh, I'm so sick of your shit! It's-it's not like I'm asking for pity or anything, it's just that…" Liz faltered, before saying meekly, "Just think of me for once, okay?"

A lump of guilt rose in his throat. "Um, I get that, but...why, you know...this?"

"Well, it's both for you and for me." She gave him a tiny smile. "I'd like to hear your voice again and, well, who knows? You might find something you love."

"So, if I do this...we're even, right?" he asked tentatively.

"Sure. Think of it as my Christmas present." Liz leaned forward to clasp his hand. "We can do that, right? I mean, we've already been together this long. I think you get it."

"...wait, so you're not pregnant, right?"

She raised her fist to his face.

"Just kidding, just kidding," he amended, bracing his hands in front of him. "But, hey, about the solo thing...you do it too, okay?"

Her face froze into an expression of almost comical horror.

Flustered, he frantically shook his head. "Um, I didn't—"

Liz burst into laughter, doubling over and clutching her stomach. Afraid that she might keel over, he kept a steady hand on her shoulder, eyeing her warily. "You okay?"

She wheezed, wiping a stray tear away with her sleeve. "Holy shit— how would Roderich's face— I mean, if we—"

A broad grin slowly spread across his face.

"Let's do it."

* * *

"You're fucking gorgeous, Roderich-bastard," Gil declared, tugging a magenta Santa hat onto his head. "Honest-to-god, I'd date you if you weren't such a dick."

"Screw you," Roderich mumbled, shooting a contemptuous glare at their coach, who was talking animatedly with Ms. Braginski. "Why the hell did he make us come here in the first place? We're a football team, not the fucking glee club."

"He definitely has a thing for Ms. Braginski," Francis piped up. "Ah, middle-aged love— too cute."

Gil wrinkled his nose. "Ugh, teachers _dating._ Gross."

"Don't spread rumors, Francis," Antonio chided from his spot a few feet away, lacing up a pair of green elf's boots. "It's probably just that these _viejos_ want to see some ass. I mean, all these women dated rugby players in their time, right?"

Gil was about to respond when he felt someone smack the back of his head. "Ow!" he whined, whirling around. "What the hell's your problem?"

"Would you guys quit gossiping and actually help out?!" Liz hissed, flushing the color of her skimpy dress. "Show's on in fifteen minutes, and Natalya's still moping around! Is now _seriously_ the time to goth out?"

"She's probably upset that her creepy brother didn't show up to ogle her," Francis replied. "Super tacky."

Liz groaned, before snatching Gil's wrist. "Come on, idiot, we're going!"

Gil conceded wearily, allowing her to pull him out of the broom closet the nursing home had reluctantly designated their changing room.

"Nice dress you've got there," he remarked, snickering.

"Oh, go fuck yourself."

"Oh, come on," he laughed. "It was a compliment, Liz. You know, you should know when to take me seriously, too."

"How can I when you won't stop smiling like an idiot?" she grumbled through gritted teeth.

"Ouch. Oh, and don't take this the wrong way— I wouldn't want Roddy to castrate me— but, you know...you've got a pretty hot bod."

She smacked him again. "Ugh, you're the worst!"

"I'm trying to be nice!"

"You little—"

Liz stopped when she saw Natalya, who had a cookie clamped between her teeth and one foot out of an opened window. "Aha! You won't escape this time!"

Natalya barely had time to yelp before Liz tackled her to the ground. She thrashed wildly, her protests muffled by the cookie in her mouth. "What the hell? Bad touch, bad touch!"

"Oh, give me a break!" Liz retorted, stuffing a dreidel hat onto her head. "Political correctness, check."

"Yep, that's my sister, alright." Natalya sighed, finally resigning herself to her fate. "Good grief— who the fuck sings Hanukkah songs?"

"Well, you, in about ten minutes." Liz glanced at the wall clock, climbing off of her. "Come on, girlie— it's showtime."

"Ugh, this is such a pain in the ass," Natalya complained as she sat up, reluctantly straightening her hat and staggering to her feet. "I swear, this thing is fucking _crawling_ with maggots."

"I'd have to agree with you there. I mean, we're not exactly rolling in cash here."

The girls walked back in the direction they came, Gil a couple of steps behind them.

"By the way, Elizaveta—"

"Liz. Call me Liz."

"Um, okay. So Liz...what the hell are you wearing? It looks like a prostitute's wet dream. Or something Feliks tugged out his ass."

"It's a long story," she sighed, fidgeting with the snowflake ornament pinned to her chest. "A very, very long story, involving—"

"Your mom?" Gil wondered out loud.

She turned around to narrow her eyes at him. Right about then, he noticed the ring of silvery powder decorating her eyelids. "Your intuition is uncanny. But yes— my mom, who can barely afford my cello lessons, bought me this stupid dress. Apparently, she and Braginski have been texting a lot since the, ah, incident on Halloween." Her gaze flickered to Gil. "But yeah. Dresses aren't fun."

The trio bumped into Ms. Braginski when they rounded into the club's room.

"Oh, thank god." She heaved a sigh of relief, elf hat askew on top of her disheveled hair. "Natalya, we were looking everywhere for you!"

She hurriedly swallowed her last bite of cookie. "Sorry, sis."

"Never mind that." She turned around, looking worriedly at the bustling crew behind her, which was in complete disarray. Giving a minimal shake of the head, Ms. Braginski clapped her hands. "Everyone! Listen here, please!"

Her voice was easily lost in the frenzy.

"Ugh, this again?" Liz grumbled, cupping her hands to her mouth and shouting, "Everyone, shut the hell up!"

The football players halted in their game of pin-the-tail-on-Francis.

"Thank you, Elizaveta." Ms. Braginski cleared her throat. "Okay, this is it, people! The moment you've all been waiting for! I'd like to thank you for all your hard work in making the holiday season a special time for these elders."

She paused, perhaps waiting for some applause, but the crowd of students was unresponsive.

"Anyways," she continued, a little pink in the face. "Please treat them with respect! They've been looking forward to this for a long time, and I hope we all can put our best efforts into this performance to make it truly great. Break a leg, everyone!"

She hopped aside to let the surge of students pass through.

Liz smiled at him, leaning over to give his hand a squeeze. "You ready?"

"You bet." He grinned, heading out.

They shuffled into a string of red, green, and blue, waiting with bated breath as the door creaked open. The students surged forward, stumbling along in their clunky felt boots and Styrofoam penguin feet.

They stepped into lively room with pale yellow wallpaper printed with pink flowers, dusty oak furniture, and an oil painting of a plump granny smiling down at everyone. The rows and rows of rocking chairs were sporadically filled by muumuu-donning elderly women and pot-bellied men, all staring blankly at the teenagers as they fidgeted and picked at their sewing.

But the biggest surprise of all was the woman standing in the back, fumbling with the tripod of a video camera.

Liz gaped. " _Mom?_ "

Katarina glanced up, her eyes brightening at the sight of her daughter.

"What is _she_ doing here?" she hissed, elbowing Gil in the stomach.

"Hell if _I_ know."

Ms. Braginski cleared her throat, catching the attention of about ten percent of their audience. "Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen! Our students appreciate your support, and would like to thank you for taking time out of your busy schedules to gather here today. And now, for our opening number…" She cast a meaningful glance to the side, prompting Roderich to bolt to a small piano in the corner, flipping the cover open and puffing dust off of the keys.

The opening chords, slightly flat, rang out in the room.

Natalya stepped forward, singing in a tremulous voice, "Oh, the weather outside is frightful."

Feliks swept his arms to the side, nearly knocking the dreidel off of her head. "But the fire is so delightful!" he warbled, astronomically off-key.

"And since we've no place to go," Antonio rumbled in a warm baritone.

"Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!" they chorused.

After the song finished, the meager audience clapped unenthusiastically. Ms. Braginski hastily stepped forward, before rattling off the next item on the program.

"Arthur Kirkland will proceed to sing 'Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer!'"

Gil sniggered, stepping back to allow the disgruntled Englishman, donning a flashing red nose and a pair of antlers, to come forward. As the music started, he began to prance around jerkily, scowling as he bullshitted his way through the song.

The audience looked less than pleased as they broke into another round of half-hearted applause. A thin, balding man in the back had begun to snore.

"And now, 'Dreidel, Dreidel, Dreidel'!"

Liz shoved Natalya forward, giving her a stern look. She sighed, blowing a strand of white-blonde hair out of her face, before she began to spin in a circle, hands clasped on top of her head.

Overcome by waves of pity, they mumbled along.

Several songs later, after the nurses had already escorted about a fourth of the crowd out for medication, the time had finally arrived.

"And, a fairly new addition to our program," Ms. Braginski began, "Gilbert Beilschmidt and Elizaveta Héderváry singing 'Seasons of Love' from the Broadway musical 'Rent'!"

Taking her sweaty hand, he spared a moment to glance at Roderich. His jaw was clenched into a frown, forehead crinkling as he flipped to the next page of his musical score.

_Bet you weren't expecting that, hm?_

Shaking his head, Roderich inhaled, playing the intro.

"Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes," Liz sang, voice trembly and timid as she stared at the carpet, uncomfortably aware that everyone's eyes were glued to her. "Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred moments so dear."

"Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes," he joined in, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. "How do you measure, measure a year?"

His mind went autopilot, barely registering what was happening they went through their painstakingly rehearsed choreography, beads of perspiration dripping down their foreheads. They traded melodies, back and forth, momentarily letting go of one another to clap in time to the jaunty piano accompaniment.

"Remember the love," he chorused softly, eyes locking on hers.

As the music slowly trickled out, in a spur-of-the-moment decision, he spun her around. Letting go of her for a second and ignoring her strangled squeal, he caught her three or four feet above the ground, hand resting on her back as he pressed his forehead against hers.

Sweat. Sugar perfume. Her curled hair tickling his face. Warm breath gusting over his nose.

Her green eyes seemed to smile at him.

Silence.

Everyone applauded loudly, whistling and catcalling as the two quickly stood up and let go of one another, visibly embarrassed. Gil rested a hand on her shoulder, steadying her. "Sorry," he whispered. "Couldn't resist."

"Yeah," she breathed, shaking her head.

They retreated into the crowd of students. Gil did his best to ignore pats on the back from his friends, focusing his attention on a square of stained carpet. Glancing towards the piano, he caught a glimpse of the contempt on Roderich's face.

 _Score_ , he thought triumphantly.

"Whoa, you gotta show me your moves, Gilster." Francis whistled, grinning from ear to ear. "That, _mon ami_ , is the look of a woman in love."

"Like hell," he scoffed, using his sleeve to awkwardly mop away the sweat on his forehead. "If you don't remember, she has a boyfriend. I mean, he's a complete asshole, but still."

He made a kissy face. "Since when has _that_ stopped true love?"

Gil resisted the urge to punch the bastard, unable to stop the smile from spreading across his face.


	14. Chapter 14

On the first day of winter break, Gil strolled up to Liz's apartment, taking a deep breath before ringing her doorbell.

"Coming, coming!" she grumbled. Several loud bangings later, the door was flung open, revealing a frazzled, bedheaded Liz. Wearing a pair of stained candy cane pajamas, her matted hair looked like the failed results of a schizophrenic monkey's chemistry experiment.

Or perhaps what would happen if anyone was unfortunate to come across Natalya Braginski, curling iron in hand.

"Gil?" she gaped, flustered. "W-What are you doing here this early?"

He glanced at his watch. "It's half past two."

"Your point being?" she groaned, leaning against the doorframe. "Ugh, it's the first day of break, Beilschmidt. At least give me day or two to sleep in."

Gil plastered on his best puppy face. "Please? I really, really need to get Ludwig a present."

"You seriously haven't decided yet? And besides, haven't we been through this before?" She clucked her tongue. "No means—"

"Lizzie? Who's at the door?" Katarina poked her head out of the kitchen. Her face lit up when she saw who it was. "Gil, sweetie! Come on in!"

He threw Liz a gloating smirk. She huffed in exasperation, gesturing to the living room. "Fine. I need to buy some things anyways. You can wait here— just give me a few minutes to change."

Her mother beamed, ushering him onto the couch. "Have you eaten lunch yet? I was just about to make us egg sandwiches."

"I had a big breakfast," he assured her. After stubbornly confirming this fact three times, Katarina sidled next to him, picking up the remote and clicking the neon green play button.

The crackling footage, from the nursery home performance, came to life, saturated and tinny sounding. The distant figures of himself and Liz sang, accompanied by Roderich's thundering piano harmonies.

"I was just re-watching it," she said fondly, seemingly far away. "Such a beautiful song."

They sat in silence for a moment.

"I really don't like her boyfriend," Katarina confined in a hushed voice. "He just doesn't seem to care about what Liz wants."

Gil kept his mouth shut. She glanced at him, before continuing, "I really worried about her. She's invested so much in this relationship. I keep trying to convince her that maybe he isn't the one, that she should let go a bit. But she never listens."

"You shouldn't worry about it so much," he said tentatively. "Liz can take care of herself. I think she'll make the right choice."

Katarina smiled at him, resting a hand on his shoulder.

They sat like that for a while, in quiet contentment.

Liz's bedroom door flew open. Running a comb through her tangled hair in a last-ditch effort to look presentable, she tossed it away, slipping into a purple parka and settling a pair of earmuffs onto her ears. After pulling on her boots, she looked expectantly at Gil. "Well? What are we waiting for?"

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were excited," he remarked.

Katarina stood up, waving them goodbye. "Have fun, kids!"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Liz grumbled, slamming the door. "So, main street? There's a lot of cute stores there. Discounts, too."

"Sounds good- I don't have that much money to spend anyways." They began to walk, heading towards the focal point of the town's holiday hustle and bustle.

Her boots left prints in the remnants of yesterday's light snow. "What were you talking about with my mom?"

Gil panicked. He couldn't tell her about that, could he? "You know," he said nonchalantly. "Stuff."

She narrowed her eyes at him, before sighing. "I really need to teach you how to lie properly."

"Well," he said cheerfully, "that makes things easier for you, right?"

"Huh."

The pair arrived at main street, staring at a bustling square full of laughing and chattering people, a steady stream of customers leaving and going each shop. The display windows were adorned with tinsel and faux snow, the neon lights boasting bargains and limited time items.

"Looks like you're not the only slacker here."

He barely heard her, pointing towards the center of the square in awe. "Hey, look at that."

A small Christmas tree sat in the quaint gazebo, surrounded by children affectionately hanging ragtag, homemade ornaments onto its drooping branches. They chattered, holding onto each other's sleeves and singing in loud, off-key voices, passing around paper cups of hot cocoa.

"It's pretty, isn't it?" Liz murmured, echoing his thoughts.

Suddenly, she cleared her throat, a little pink-faced. "Well, do you have some idea of what you're getting? We don't have all day, you know."

"Um, yes!" He stuck a hand into his letterman jacket, pulling out a crumpled piece of looseleaf. "I thought about it, and...maybe something having to do with organization? Like, a paper filer?"

"He has a million of those," she chided him, pausing to think. "I think Ludwig would like...something personalized. A gift only you could give him."

"Yeah, I see you what you're saying, but Lud's not exactly super sentimental," Gil mumbled, staring at his messy notes.

Out of nowhere, Liz laughed, leaning forward to tap his nose playfully. "Well, why don't you take a while to think about it? We can do my shopping first— I could use a second person's opinion."

"What happened to 'Gil, we don't have all day'?" He waggled his eyebrows at her, trying to suppress a smile.

"Oh, go screw yourself." Grabbing his hand, she pulled him into a nearby stationary shop.

Liz dragged him to a display stacked with girly, felt-smothered notebooks. She picked out a composition book decorated with googly-eyed, neon-colored fish. "How's this one? I'm thinking of getting it for Feli for his birthday in a couple of months— you know, he's an artsy person, so I'll probably just make it a scrapbook or something."

"I'm into it." He gave her a thumbs-up, but she barely paid him any mind, clutching the notebook against her chest as she continued down the aisle, peering at animal erasers and other vomit-inducingly cute objects.

Within ten minutes, she had slipped a couple of crisp dollar bills to the clerk, leaving the shop with her present.

"Now what?" He glanced nervously around the crowded street.

"Well, struck by any inspiration yet?" she asked, matter-of-factly.

"Um, no, but—"

"Okay. Why don't we go the arts-and-crafts store? I mentioned personalized, didn't I?"

Without waiting for his reply, she began marching him to a brightly glowing building on the opposite end of the street.

As he struggled against her iron grip, Gil swore he'd never suffered so much humiliation in his seventeen years of life. Feeling immensely childish and pouty, he stuck his tongue out at every child who dared to stare at him.

"Come on, Gil," she chastised. "Don't take your anger out on the itty-bitty children."

He didn't dare argue now.

As soon as they entered the crafts store, a ponytailed woman in a tie-dyed shirt swooped down on them, gesturing to rows upon rows of haphazardly arranged art supplies. Crushed bottles of paint lay everywhere, leaving streaks of lemon and aqua on the white tiles.

"What are y'all looking for today?" she chirped.

Liz smiled graciously at her. "My friend here wants to get something personalized for his younger brother— anything you have to recommend? We're open to pretty much everything."

"Hm...do you have some idea what gift he'd like?"

"Well, he's a bit of a stuffy guy," Gil piped up. "Really into organization."

She thought it about it for another moment, before snapping her fingers. "We have just the thing for you!" The woman grabbed both of their hands, yanking them behind the counter and into a musty backroom.

Squinting in the dim light, she bent down, digging through a large cardboard box. She finally "aha"ed after a couple minutes of sifting, presenting a thick wooden frame with a small blackboard on one side, and a mini-calendar on the other.

Spotting the puzzled looks on their faces, she began to explain. "You can write down messages for each other on blackboard, and note important days on the calendar. And since it's the holidays, I'll let you decorate it with whatever you want for free!"

"Well, I do have some extra room in my kitchen." A wide smile spread across Gil's face. "It's a deal!"

After they paid, she ushered the pair to a tablecloth-covered worktable. "Wait here, I'll get you some supplies." Dashing out of the room, she left the pair alone to the sound of the dripping ceiling and the buzz of the store's ventilation.

"Thanks for coming with me today."

It came out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

"Eh?" She glanced up, surprised, before laughing it off. "No problem. That's what friends are for, right?"

The woman returned, her arms laden with shades upon shades of oil paint, chalk, and glitter glue. She deposited the pile onto the table, before wiping the sweat off her brow and straightening her bandana. "Go crazy, kids!"

"Alright!" Liz bee-lined for the glitter, picking out tiny tubes of gold and silver. "Anything in particular you want to write on here?"

Gil stared, dumbfounded, at his gift. "Um, not really...how about just my name and his?"

"Roger that!" Tongue poking out at the corner her mouth, she poised the silver tube over the frame, writing "Gil + Ludwig" in loopy letters and ending the final "g" with a swirl. A smiley face followed.

"Hey, you're actually pretty artistic," Gil remarked, stepping back to admire her neat handiwork.

She shot him a smug look. "Why do you sound so surprised?"

"No reason." He picked up a piece of green chalk, drawing a lopsided Christmas tree on the blackboard.

 _Merry Christmas!,_ he wrote in steady cursive. _From Gil._

"No, no, no!" Liz snatched the chalk from his hand, erasing the "from" and replacing it with "love." She smiled fondly at her writing. "That's better."

Gil wrinkled his nose. "You have got to be kidding me."

"Well, you do, right?" she insisted. "Would you be putting all of this effort into this if you didn't?"

"It's just that...I haven't actually told him that in a long time," he said slowly, struck by a bitter mixture of guilt and discomfort.

The drip-dripping silence seemed to cling stubbornly to the workroom air.

"Alright— then it's time to get started!" Liz declared, swatting his hand away. "We're leaving that there, like it or not."

He rolled his eyes, suppressing a grin. "There's no point in arguing with you, is there?"

"Nope!" she said in a sing-song voice, picking up a tube of orange paint. "It's totally, utterly futile."

"Well, if you're gonna be like that," he snatched back the chalk chalk she had stolen from him, adding an "and Liz" to his signature, "it'll be from the both of us."

She hesitated, and laughed. "You're insufferable."

After an hour of intensive decorating, the frame was adorned with splotches of bright paint and glitter, a golden-rod sun swirled with tints of chili-red and pale orange smiling from its spot in the far-right corner.

Liz sighed in satisfaction, leaning back to admire their work. "Man, that's a lot of love."

"Tell me about it," Gil sat back, rubbing his sore knees.

The store employee stepped in, delighted to see their finished product. "Wow, guys, that looks great! Why don't you leave it here overnight to dry? You can pick it up tomorrow, if you'd like. Could I just have your name?"

"Gilbert Beilschmidt," Liz piped up, patiently spelling it out for the woman, who had taken out a post-it and a purple sharpie.

"And Elizaveta Héderváry," Gil added, carefully noting where the accents fell.

"Perfect!" She finished writing with a flourish, beckoning for Liz to hand over the frame. After pasting the note on, she placed it on the fold-up table that lined the left-hand side of the workroom, beaming at the two. "Thank you for shopping!"

"No problem," Liz replied, heading out of the shop, Gil in tow.

"So, anything else?" He turned to face her after standing on the edge of the curb.

"Nah, not really." She shrugged. "We can go back now, if you want."

They headed back down the street, hands shoved in their pockets and shivering against the chill. As they were about to round the bend that led to her home, Gil spotted a glowing jewelry store, faux diamonds and golds glinting in the light, looming ahead of them.

In all of this ruckus, there was one person he'd forgotten.

He stopped, and she raised her eyebrows at him, waving a hand in front of his face. "Hello? You there?"

Gil snapped back to his senses, still staring at the display case. "You go ahead. I forgot to do something."

Liz seemed taken aback, suspicious even, but let it go. "Um, okay. I'll see you some other time then." She began walking once more, but was stopped with a hand on her shoulder. "Gil, you—"

He brushed a kiss against her cheek, beaming. "Thanks for everything."

She turned a fierce shade of tomato red. Flustered, she swatted him away. "Pervert."

"Hey, I could've done a lot worse!" he laughed, tousling her hair. "See you around, Liz."

"Y-Yeah, you too…"

He waited impatiently, watching as she pattered slowly away, and rounded the corner. With bated breath, he stood awkwardly in front of the shop for thirty more seconds, counting down the time until he could be sure she wouldn't follow him.

Glancing around to assure himself that no one would see him enter a _jewelry store_ , for Christ's sake, he disappeared into the shop.

* * *

On the morning of Christmas Day, Gil woke with the start, having waited until midnight to finally place his present under the tree. Running his fingers through his tangled bedhead, he slipped out of his bed sheets, throwing on his letterman jacket and ratty jeans.

The tiny box, messily wrapped in silver paper, sat on his nightstand.

Giving himself one last comb with his hair brush, he started down the stairs, the box jiggling in his pocket. When he reached the bottom, he saw that Ludwig had already opened his present, the ball of crumpled wrapping paper already tossed into the wastebasket.

He smiled to himself, halfway through the doorway when a voice stopped him.

"Gilbert…"

Ludwig stood behind him, clutching the doodled-on frame to his chest. He was still wearing his gray sweats.

"Yeah?" he asked nonchalantly.

"Thank you for your present," he blurted out. "It was...very nice. I, um, really appreciate that you—"

"If you're gonna thank me, thank Liz too," Gil cut him off. "Give her a day off or something, I don't know."

Oddly elated, he left a speechless Ludwig stuttering behind him, whistling a merry tune quietly to himself. Hopping onto his bike, he pedaled down the hill of his shabby neighborhood, the winter breeze sending his jacket billowing behind him.

His brother...thanking him. His brother, speechless and grateful and stuttering.

It was surreal.

Continuously replaying the memory in his head and grinning at how awesome he must have sounded, he rounded onto Liz's street, pressing the brake on his bike and chaining it to a nearby streetlight.

He rapped sharply on her door. A grumpy call of "I'm coming!" sounded, muffled, behind its wooden panels. Several stomping footsteps later, it was flung open, and there stood Elizaveta, wearing a fuzzy green Christmas sweater, wet hair braided down her back.

She blinked blearily at him. "Gil?"

"Merry Christmas," he said, his fingers clasping over the box. "Just wanted to stop by and say hi. I'm, uh, running errands."

"On Christmas Day?" She raised a quizzical eyebrow at him. "Good luck on finding a place that's actually open."

"Even so...yeah, running errands."

Gil resisted the urge to smash his head against the wall. God, why couldn't he just man up?

Liz crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe and eyeing him skeptically. "You really think I'd buy that? Sheesh, I didn't think you thought so low of me."

When he didn't reply, she heaved a sigh. "So, tell me what you really came to do."

Summoning his last ounce of courage, he whipped out the box and presented it to her. "You. Present. From me. Christmas."

She was stunned, looking at the gift in awe. "For me?"

He nodded, relieved she hadn't commented on his sudden bout of caveman-speak. Not his finest moment. "I got it after you left. Remember?"

"I knew you were up to something," she mumbled under her breath, taking the box. "Thanks so much. I...I'm really touched."

Gil cleared his throat. "Um, you can open it now...if you want."

"Oh, okay." Fumbling with the folds of the paper, she gingerly unwrapped the box and opened it, gasping at the sight of a silver bracelet made of delicate, circular beads.

He slid the sleeve of his jacket up, revealing a matching one. "I'm sorry it's not really fancy, I just wanted to get us ones that weren't really that girly so we could both wear them without it being embarrassing for me, and I know it's cheesy, but I'm just want you to know that I'm super grateful for...well, everything, and—"

"I love it," she cut him off, immediately putting it on. "It's beautiful— I can't thank you enough. This is...totally unexpected. Wow." She gazed forlornly at it. "It's just that...I feel really bad, since I didn't get anything for you."

Oh shit, he hadn't factored the possibility of this in. "Oh, that's not a big deal, it's just-"

"Close your eyes."

"...what?"

"I said, close your eyes!" she demanded, her cheeks tinted pink. "Just do it, okay?"

Perplexed, he did as she said, squeezing his eyes shut.

There was a soft patter on the floor, warm breath tickling his chin. As he breathed in a whiff of strawberry shampoo strong enough to send him reeling, he barely registered the soft lips pecking his cheek resolutely, before darting back.

"You can look now."

Dazed, he opened his eyes, surprised to Liz grinning nervously at him.

"Well, I wasn't sure what I was expecting," he said slyly, "but hey, that wasn't so bad."

"That was payback for Saturday." She suppressed a laugh, swatting him playfully on the forearm. "Merry Christmas, Gil."


	15. Chapter 15

Gil, whistling a cheery tune under his breath, sauntered home, hands shoved in his jacket pockets. Despite the jarring feeling of going back to falling asleep on top of his textbooks in class (the first day back after break was always tough), he was in rather high spirits, especially after noticing that Liz never seemed to let the bracelet out of her sight.

Stepping inside his house, he perked up at the smell of freshly baked cookies wafting from the kitchen.

"Hey, Ms. Ackerman!" he shouted, cupping his hands to his mouth. "Can I have a cookie?"

The hag didn't response. Shrugging to himself, he bounded into the kitchen, picking up a scalding hot cookie and plopping it in his mouth. As the chocolate chips melted tantalizingly in his mouth, he ambled towards the spot where Ludwig had (lovingly) mounted his Christmas present.

_Love, Gil._

He grinned through his mouthful of cookie.

Deterring him from his thoughts, the shrill chime of the doorbell echoed through the house.

Who could it be? Well, considering recent events, it was most likely Liz, coming to chastise him about leaving his algebra textbook at her place (as he did about eighty percent of the time).

"Go get it, you lazy son-of-a-bitch!" Ms. Ackerman shrieked from upstairs.

He rolled his eyes, but did as she said, opening the door. "Sorry, Liz—"

"Hello, Gilbert." The man stood awkwardly on his porch, his face lined and rugged with age, lumbering form too large for his dark green trench coat.

Gil gaped at him, stammering, "D-Dad?"

His father smiled tiredly at him, brushing a loose-strand of gray hair out of his face. "It's been a long time, son."

 _More like a year and a half_ , he thought ruthlessly, but didn't pursue the train of thought.

"Well," he laughed, "um...are you staying?"

"For a little while, at least," his father replied. In a flash, he pulled a tiny beige birdcage from behind his back and a package of bseed. A minute yellow canary hopped around inside, chirping at the sight of Gil's face. "I stopped by the pet store, and remembered that I didn't give you guys Christmas presents this year, so I thought…"

Gil was flabbergasted at the sight of the bird, but took the cage. "It's great. Thanks, Dad."

Cue the pause of awkward silence.

"I, um...can I come in?"

Gil resisted the urge to bang his head against the doorframe. "Yes, of course!" He stepped out of the way, motioning at the couch and setting the birdcage down on the coffee table.

His father gingerly sat on the edge of the sofa, clearing his throat. "So, how are you, Gilbert?"

"Well, I'm...okay, I guess." Struggling to find a better answer, he changed the subject. "What about you? How's work?"

From the tidbits of info gathered from about a half dozen phone calls and letters, he was pretty sure his father worked at a corporation that sold...protractors, was it?

"It's going well." His eyes lit up. "My boss promoted recently, so I asked him for a week off. He wasn't too happy about it, but I had to make time to see you two. By the way...where's Ludwig?"

"Student council something." Gil shrugged. "He's the prez, if you didn't know. According to Liz, it's a record of some sort. Head honcho at sixteen? Total shocker." After realizing that he had mentioned Liz, he shook his head. "Sorry, by Liz, I mean Elizaveta. You remember her, right?"

"Elizaveta?" He frowned. "Katarina's daughter? But didn't you two—" Catching himself, he coughed delicately, giving him a thin-lipped smile. "So you're friends now?"

Gil laughed sheepishly. "Yeah, sort of...she's my tutor, but I guess you could call us that."

His father arched an eyebrow at him. "Tutor?"

"Oh, Ludwig didn't tell you?" The words slipped out of his mouth before he could stop them. Better sooner than later, he supposed. "Um, yeah...but it's going well. Everything's awesome. Life is, really."

About to take his words back, he paused to consider what he'd just said.

Thinking back on it, he had truly meant it.

"That's great, Gilbert." His father beamed at him.

They lapsed into quiet contentment.

"I'd like to come to school with you tomorrow," he said sternly. "Some things Ludwig told me last time we talked were rather…troubling. I'm worried about you, Gilbert; I've heard stories of your former...escapades. You do realize that your behavior is unacceptable, don't you?"

_Come home more often, then. Don't leave us alone again._

His conscience was at war, the obedient smothering the snide and desperate.

"I understand that you're still hurt. I am, too, buddy, but...things happen. You just have to accept the way things are, and move on. I've changed, Gilbert, and I want you to know that. I'm still healing, and I want to be a part of your life again as much as possible. So, please...let's do our best together."

_You can't fess up to it, can you? That Mom did what she did because of you._

But he only nodded meekly, staring pointedly at his lap.

"That's my son." His father patted him reassuringly on the back, before heaving himself to his feet. "Now, if you're up to it, how about an ice cream at Patty's? We can bring your friend, too."

"Lactose intolerant," Gil reminded him, standing up. "And Ludwig, he'll—"

He winked. "What he doesn't know won't kill him."

* * *

Gil woke bright and early in the morning to the sound of insistent chirping. Sitting up abruptly and finding himself entangled in his mass of bedsheets, he scowled at the bird sitting on his nightstand. "Shut it, will you? A guy needs his beauty sleep."

It blinked owlishly at him, cocking its head to the side.

"Yeah, you're probably just hungry." He opened the cage's hatch to pull out the water dish, filling it into the bathroom.

Shuffling back to his room, he tugged open the bag of bird seed, gingerly pouring a serving into a bowl. "Here you go, douche-pants," he grumbled, putting it back inside. The bird cheeped its thanks, delving into his breakfast.

"Well, might as well give you a name," he told it, sitting back down on his bed and swinging his legs back and forth. "Gilbert the Second? Gilbert the Great? Gilbert, Gilbert...Gilbird!" Feeling immensely satisfied with himself, he grinned at the bird. "Hey, Gilbird."

After asserting that it was somewhat pleased with its new name, he stood up and began his morning routine a half an hour earlier than usual, reasoning that he could use a morning run. Grabbing a granola bar from the stash hidden beneath his bed, he shed his pajamas and put on his usual on as he bit into the chocolate and oatmeal.

A quick mouthwash rinse later, he smiled at his reflection in the bathroom. Just as he was about to leave, the hag stumbled in, still dressed in her fluffy pink bathrobe and clogs. Her hair, a nest of iron wires, was a disheveled mess, her lips pursed as if she had just swallowed a lemon whole.

"Good morning," Gil chirped, but was only met with a sneer.

"What are you doing up so early, boy?" she snapped, shoving him out of the way and poking at her wrinkles in front of the mirror, stretching open her baggy eyelids.

"What, is it a crime to be an early bird?" He leaned in the doorframe, smirking.

She gave him a steely look, before returning to her makeup kit. "Wipe that smug look off your face, young man. Wake up at noon, for all I care. It's much too early for this sass."

"Says who?" As she was opening her mouth to retort, he braced his hands in surrender, chuckling. "Alright, alright, I'm leaving. See you later, Ms. Ackerman."

"Gilbert—" He turned around, but she hesitated, before saying tentatively, "Your father. I understand if you don't want to talk about it, but...just know that—"

"What? Now you're getting all motherly on me, too?" He laughed. "One unexpected parent is enough. Thanks for the concern, though. I guess you're not as cold-blooded as I thought." He ducked to avoid the swinging hairbrush.

"That's enough from you," she said scornfully, turning away. "Hurry up now. You don't want to disrupt my beauty routine, do you?"

"I wouldn't dream of it." Smiling in faint amusement, Gil made his way down the stairs. His backpack sitting near his sneakers, he slung it over his shoulders. Before slipping out the door, he glanced back at his father, snoring as he lay on the couch with the pillow smashed into his face.

Feeling a twinge of hurt, he shook his head, and left the house.

He stood in the shadow of the blazing morning sunset, watching as the world woke.

Gil broke into a sprint, feeling the bitter wind nip at his cheeks as he willed it all to disappear.

Before he knew it, he had ended up in front of the ice cream parlor that they had visited last night and all of those years ago. It seemed so distant yet up-close, the double chocolate fudge melting and dripping onto the cone.

The fading poster of a cartoon sundae winked at him.

Forget, forget, _just forget—_

"Gilbert?"

He snapped out of it, whirling around to see Ludwig, forehead glossy with sweat and a green hand towel wrapped around his neck. Brow furrowed, he jogged towards him, offering him his water bottle.

Gil accepted it gratefully, chugging half it. Wiping his mouth, he muttered his thanks, handing the bottle back to him. "Anyways, what are you doing here?"

Ludwig hesitated, before gesturing to a nearby park bench. "Do you mind if I talk to you for a second?"

"Not at all." Side-by-side, they slowly made their way to the metal-wrought seat. Easing themselves down, they watched as the sun rose, the sky a canvas of pink and orange.

"So, you went for a run, too?" Ludwig said, abruptly shattering the silence. "Guess you felt the same way."

"Yeah."

His brother stared at the gravel-strewn sidewalk. "I saw him when I came home last night, and...he'd said he'd changed, and I wanted to believe him, but...it's hard, Gilbert. I mean, I feel so silly for—"

"-not wanting to forgive him again? Yeah, I get where you're coming from." Gil took another drink of water. "He doesn't see us for almost two years, and he thinks he can just come home and take me out for ice cream and get us a fucking bird and then it'll be okay? I'm really, really pissed, but...can't we just let it go? For Mom, I mean. She'd be mad if we never forgave him."

"Yeah, Edith, too," Ludwig said wistfully, her lips curved in a slight smile.

"Wait...Edith?" Gil cocked his head to the side, before it dawned on him. "You don't mean...Ms. Ackerman? Why the hell would she care?"

Ludwig shot him a confused look. "What, you didn't know? She's our legal guardian. Father says she's our half-great-aunt, something along those lines. You didn't think he'd let us live with a stranger, do you?"

He groaned. "I'm related to the hag? This is officially the worst day ever. But honestly...how come he never told me?"

"I suppose he thought you weren't mature enough to handle it." Ludwig paused, before quipping, "And honestly, I'd have to agree."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Gil whined, swatting him playfully on the shoulder. "I thought you were on my side, bud—" He stopped, pulling his hand away and edging farther away from him. "Sorry, I shouldn't have—"

"No, it's fine," Ludwig assured him, vaguely uncomfortable. He cleared his throat. "Anyways, I'm glad we had this talk, Gilbert. Feelings are always better let out than-"

"-bottled-up," Gil finished irritably. "Yeah, yeah, I know- but could you lay off the 'moral of the story' crap? We're bros, so the whole talking to each other about our problems thing is totally normal."

Ludwig ran his fingers through his hair, muttering, "I never got the chance to really thank you for your gift, so...thanks. It's the nicest thing anyone's ever bought for me. I thanked Elizaveta the other day, too, but she just shooed me away and told me that it was all you. You know, you two have a lot more in common than you think."

He sighed, barely repressing his smile. "Yeah, typical Liz. I guess we're both just really stubborn. But seriously, she was the one who came up with the idea in the first place. Honestly, I was all for getting you paper filers. She just doesn't want to take all the credit in front of the dreamboat prez."

For the next half an hour or so, they exchanged clipped conversation, passing the water bottle back and forth. Only when Ludwig glanced flippantly at his watch did they realize how late it was. Eyes widening, his brother bounded to his feet, wiping the sweat off of his brow with the corner of his towel. "Shit, we're gonna be late."

"Don't want to ruin your reputation, do you?" Gil teased as they shoved their belongings haphazardly into their backpacks, breaking into a mad dash towards the school.

"Let's not even mention that," Ludwig huffed, rounding the corner and waiting impatiently as a car cruised by.

Maybe this whole brother thing wasn't so bad after all.

* * *

Swaggering out of the club room, Gil was surprised to see his father waiting outside, lips pursed and looking mildly displeased.

Natalya, looking even more goth than usual (which was saying a lot), sneered at him as she ambled by, blowing a raspberry at a snickering Feliks once they were out of eyeshot. Sadiq, who was dragging Heracles out of the classroom, barely batted an eyelash behind his dark shades. Lovi and Arthur merely rolled their eyes at the sight of him, while Alfred rushed forward to introduce himself, mouth still stuffed with salt and vinegar chips.

Liz tapped him on the shoulder, shaking him out of his daze. "Is that—"

His father waved at her, smiling pleasantly. "Hello, Elizaveta, Long time no see."

"Um, hey, Mr. Beilschmidt," she laughed anxiously, before elbowing Gil in the ribs. "How are you doing?"

"Just fine, thank you," he said, waving his hand airily. His gaze flitted lazily to his son. "Although, from what I've heard from the faculty, it appears that Gilbert's academic career isn't." He wrinkled his nose at the club room. "Especially since these are the sort of people you're hanging out with. You never said anything about a delinquent club, Gilbert."

Gil winced, exchanging a look with Liz. Before he could warn her against it, she had stepped forward. "I beg your pardon, sir, but your son is doing just fine. I'm his tutor now, and I assure you that he's put his past behind him."

"It's not your place to argue, Elizaveta," his father spat, before clearing his throat. "I apologize. That was uncalled for. It's difficult, being home again after so long, and…" he trailed off.

She nodded curtly, lowering her head. "No, I'm the one who should apologize."

The silence clung to the air, hovering above them.

His father coughed into his fist, forcing a smile. "Well, enough of that. Why don't I give drive us to your house, Elizaveta? It would be great to catch up with your mom, while you guys study."

"Sounds good," Liz said, shrugging at Gil.

After a two-minute, almost silent car-ride, in which Liz and Gil sat hip-to-hip in the cramped backseat of his Volkswagen Beetle to the sound of classical music, they parked crookedly in front of her apartment. Hopping out, Gil's father smiled fondly at the street. "Ah, I missed this place. It hasn't changed at all."

"Well, it's only been a year and a half." Gil climbed out after him, eager for a gulp of fresh air. Liz followed, entering the foyer and knocking on her mother's door. "Mom? We're home."

"You're back earlier than usual," she chirped. A loud crash later, the door was flung open, Katarina standing there with her apron slung over her shoulder.

Her eyes widened at the sight of Gil's father. "Lars!" she exclaimed, leaning forward to hug him.

"Hey, Kat," he laughed. "It's so good to see you."

She pulled away, dabbing at her eyes. "Why don't you come on in? I have some milk and cookies waiting for us. God, you have to tell me everything!"

"You too," he replied as followed her inside, slipping off his worn loafers. Gaze darting around the cluttered apartment, he strode up to the mantel, tracing his fingers across the dozens of pictures. "Everything's the same."

"Well, what did you expect?" Katarina returned from the kitchen, setting the tray of cookies and milk onto the coffee table. "Come into the dining room, Lars. We can talk there."

As the two adults disappeared, chattering like their lives depended on it, Liz sighed, collapsing onto the couch and burying her face into a pillow. "You could've told me, you know."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he answered, as indignantly as he could with a cookie in his mouth.

She scowled into the pillow. "Oh, come on, don't play dumb with me. Your _dad_. You obviously have mixed feelings about it, so I want you to sit down and tell me how you're feeling because I absolutely hate it when people I care about keep things from me."

He wanted to pursue the whole caring thing, but chose to drop it, conceding, "Alright, alright, you got me. I just felt really bad about telling you, since you've never met—"

"My dad," she said softly. "Yeah, I know. That doesn't mean I don't care, Gil. Honestly, it doesn't even bother me anymore.

"I think I sort of get it. You feel abandoned and lost, since he isn't ever there for you and still thinks he has the right to be angry at you. Like, thinking that you should be like Ludwig and all that. You're angry for what happened to your family, you're angry that he thinks he can just waltz back into your life, even if it's just for a little while, believing that everything's okay and you should be someone you aren't." She paused, lifting her head out of the pillow. "That about right?"

He nodded, and she continued, "Don't think I don't get where you're coming from. I'm pretty empathetic."

"Yeah, like when you're not nagging the hell out of me," he joked, earning himself a smack to the head. "Ow!"

"Oh, please." She rolled her eyes. "That probably didn't even hurt. Um, so, anyways...I don't want us to fall apart, okay? You won't catch me saying this again, but...I like being friends with you. Honestly. So, I just want you to know that you can come to me anytime and talk about whatever's on your mind. I'll always be there for you, no matter what, okay?"

She raised his glass of milk, clinking it with his.

Gil smiled at her. Now that he thought about it, the whole friendship thing wasn't so bad either.


	16. Chapter 16

Shortly after the hasty departure of Gil's father, who claimed his company was middle of a financial crisis, the hustle and bustle of Valentine's Day was just beginning. Hordes of girls, clumped in tightly knit packs, giggled each time a boy passed in the halls, leaning forward to whisper and text one another and update their Facebook statuses and—

"It's just too much," Gil confided to Liz, tossing his pen up in the air. "Seriously, if you guys are planning the apocalypse, warn me first."

She rolled her eyes, munching on a carrot stick. "Don't lump me in with _them_. Anyways, why are you so nervous? Is there someone you like or something?"

Gil pondered this for a moment. "Eh, not really. Some of you are nice and all, but I'm just not feeling it. Honestly, the closest thing I have to a girlfriend is you."

Only then did he realize the weight of his off-handed remark.

"Um, you know, since we're, as in, you and me, we're—"

"Yeah, I get it," Liz cut him off, flushing pink.

"Anyways!" Gil cleared his throat, before saying wryly, "What are _your_ Valentine's Day plans? A smexy night of rom-coms and boob-groping with Roddy?"

She raised an eyebrow. "As if. Roderich's idea of romance is treating me to the McDonald's Dollar Menu."

He patted her sympathetically on the back, wincing. "Ouch."

"Although," she said hesitantly, "I'm kind of hopeful this year. You heard about the fundraisers the cheerleaders are doing, right?"

"The candy-gram rose thing? What about it?"

In theory, the concept was rather silly. Want to express your love and admiration for your crush or boyfriend? Want to shower your beloved friends with Dove's peanut butter chocolates and an extra smattering of cavities? Well, why were you just standing there? Send them a candy-gram! White roses went to friends, red to crushes. Anonymity was your choice.

Liz flinched. "Well, I was sort of hoping he'd take the hint this year and actually send me one? I mean, we _are_ dating, and we haven't gone on a date recently, so I thought that he—"

"You want him to ask you to the Valentine's Dance?" Gil finished.

She nodded timidly, toying with a loose strand of hair. "I know it's stupid, but...I really, really want this for us."

"Seems legit." He shrugged. "I'm sorry he's being such an ass, though. Seriously, what boyfriend _doesn't_ get his girlfriend a gift for Valentine's Day? That's a pretty dick move, especially since all you girls are such hopeless romantics."

Liz stuck her tongue out at him. "Not helping."

"But, if it's what you really want…" Gil sighed. "Fine. I guess I could drop a hint."

"Really?" she gasped. "You'd do that for me?"

"Sure? It's not that big of a—"

"You're the best, Gil!" Liz tacked him with a hug, grinning widely. "Seriously. Thank you thank you thank you!"

His heartbeat quickened from their proximity; her grinning face was barely inches from his own. He gently extricated himself from her grasp, edging away. "You must really like him," he said softly, an odd feeling punching through his gut.

She cocked her head to the side, concerned. "Um...you alright?"

He forced a smile. "Never been better! Happy to help out!" Letting out a brittle laugh, he glanced at his watch. "Oh, look how late it is! I should go." He scrambled to his feet, stopping when she tugged at the back of his jacket.

She pursed her lips, casting her eyes down to the ground. "Um, you sure you don't want to stay for dinner?"

Forcing a chuckle, he hefted his bag onto one arm. "Are you so in love with me you can't bear to see me leave? Really, Liz, I'm fine. Don't worry."

"If you're sure—"

Barely moments later, he was out the door, his pace quickening with every passing second.

He shook his head. _What the hell is wrong with me?_

* * *

Determined to keep his promise to Liz, Gil scanned the sea of students in search of Roderich. _Nada, nada, nada...got him!_

Roderich, looking as preppy as always, was carrying his violin case and fast approaching the candy-gram table. Unfortunately, from what Gil could see, he had no intention of stopping.

Gil strode over to him, slapping him on the back. "Roddy-boy! What's up?"

Roderich barely turned his head. "Oh," he said plainly, "it's you."

Gil pouted. "Don't give me that! I missed you!"

He sighed, and adjusted his glasses. "What do you want, Beilschmidt?"

Damn, that was fast.

_Keep it together, Beilschmidt._

"Come on, Roddy!" Gil laughed, slinging his arm over the boy's shoulder. "Don't be such a buzzkill. All I wanted was to ask you about your Valentine's Day plans."

 _Score!_ He mentally high-fived himself. Subtle _and_ to the point. Man, he was too good.

To his dismay, Roderich scoffed, quickening his pace. "Please. Like I'm stupid enough to buy into that cheesy crap. This holiday is nothing but a way to guilt-trip people into buying cheap, low-quality shit, all in the name of _love_. I refuse to play along."

Gil was flabbergasted. "Um...wow. Okay." He hesitated. "I mean, even if you feel that way, shouldn't you at least planning to send her a candy-gram? She's your _girlfriend_ , you know. Yeah, sometimes I don't understand their shit, but seriously, if you really care about her, you should step it up."

Roderich stiffened, before laughing haughtily. "I don't need your love advice, idiot. What I do and when I do it is my business, so I'd thank you kindly not to interfere. Goodbye." Tossing his hair out of his eyes, he pushed past him, ignoring the table where the cheerleaders were peddling their goods.

Gil, more pissed than he expected himself to be, huffed in exasperation. Giving a shake of his head to clear his mind, he trudged over to the clubroom. As it turned out, Liz was already waiting at the door for him, a glimmer in her eyes.

"So?" she asked, practically jumping up and down in elation.

He immediately felt a twinge of guilt. What was he supposed to say? Could he really let her down?

"Um, well...he didn't seem all that into it."

She looked crestfallen, her eyes falling to the ground and arms back at her sides and _oh God, Liz, you're really killing me here._

Sympathy overwhelming his judgment, he cleared his throat. "I mean, I still think I got through to him a little bit. Roderich isn't the most touchy feely person, and we don't exactly get along, so...who knows? He might be buying one right now."

Her eyes lit up. "Really? You think so?"

It took all of his willpower to give her a charming wink and a thumbs-up. "You bet'cha!"

Cue the internal cringe.

They high-fived, Liz taking the opportunity to give him a quick peck on the cheek.

He blinked owlishly at her.

"Friendly," she reminded him, sighing.

"Right," he said numbly. "Friendly."

Following her into the room, they took their usual seats close to the back.

Moments later, the door was flung open by none other than Ms. Braginski, who practically glided into the room. "Good afternoon, everyone!" she warbled, taking her place at the front desk. "I have wonderful news!"

Natalya exhaled shakily, exchanging a knowing look with Feliks.

Pretending not to notice, Ms. Braginski, ever the trooper, plowed bravely on. "This year, our club is going to run the Valentine's Day Dance!"

Had this been a rom-com, they all would have done a spit-take right about then.

"You have _got_ to be shitting me," Sadiq said scathingly, Heracles mumbling in assent.

Liz looked panicked. "Um, are you really sure about this? It's a really important event–"

"Not to worry, Elizaveta!" Ms. Braginski assured her. "I've worked everything out with the student council and PTA, and they say it's totally fine! I even convinced them to make it a fundraiser!"

"And for what, exactly?" Natalya groaned, banging her head against the desk.

"The campaign to save the cotton-top tamarin!"

Gil could only imagine what the art teacher was thinking as all of her students hit the floor.

* * *

Once the half-assed preparations had been made and some sick twist of fate convinced Ms. Braginski to appoint Feliks in charge of decorations and Alfred as DJ, the meeting was blissfully over.

Gil headed out on his own, since Liz had some student council-related matters to discuss with their teacher. Whistling and ambling along, he stopped upon passing the candy-gram station, with its bubble letter signs and cheesy cardboard hearts plastered to a floppy pink tablecloth.

Huh. It was empty. The person manning the table was probably on break.

Sauntering up to it, he peered at the cash register and box full of paper slips. Gil cautiously picked up a purple gel pen and a crumpled sheet of paper, painstakingly transcribing his order.

Okay...four whites, for Francis, Antonio, Liz, plus Ludwig, just for good measure. So that was four dollars. How much did he have on him again?

Sifting through his back pocket, he pulled out a creased five-dollar bill.

One more then.

Did he want to pull off a Gilbert Beilschmidt move? Or was it better to play it safe?

His lips upturned into a faint smirk.

Like he had to ask.

* * *

On the morning of February 7th, a week before the fated day, the cheerleading squad, wearing matching red sweaters and leg warmers, arrived at the each of the homerooms to deliver the candy-grams.

A cheerleader, whose name Gil couldn't call to mind, knocked on their door as Ms. Greeley, their bespectacled and rather forgetful Spanish teacher, was gathering her papers. Copying their homework onto the board, she called out in a singsong voice, "Come in!"

She bounced into the room, barely able to wrap her arms around the large box. "Candy-grams!" she warbled, setting it at the desk. Taking a list out of her pocket, she called out each of their names in turn, tossing everyone their roses and slips of paper tied to bags of of cheap convenience store candy.

"Gilbert Beilschmidt!"

Snapping out of his stupor, Gil grabbed his bag just before it could smack him right in the face. He examined his haul, counting three whites (Elizaveta, Francis, and Antonio) and two reds, both from freshmen he didn't even know. His two best friends' messages consisted of numerous inside jokes and vows to get laid before he did, while Liz's went along the lines of "you're an idiot but I guess I'm obligated to get this for you xoxoxoxo".

Bless her little heart.

He glanced at her, folding it back up with a smile on his face. She stuck her tongue out, flashing a thumbs-up at him.

"Elizaveta Héderváry!" the cheerleader called out, completely butchering her surname.

She eagerly reached forward to grab her bundle. A half-dozen whites from Feli, Lili, Vash, and her other friends, as well as a single red.

Gil arched an eyebrow at it. Had Roderich really taken his advice to heart? Or was it just a pining lower-classman who was stupid enough to believe he had a chance with her?

Once the cheerleader had finished rattling off the names, she pulled a lone baggie out of the box, smiling sweetly as she waddled over to the teacher's desk. "Ms. Greeley? This one's for you."

"Really?" the teacher exclaimed, accepting it in awe. "I had no idea that we could receive these as well." As she popped a gummy bear in her mouth, she flattened out the note, reading out loud, "To an awesome friend. Much love, Gilbert."

Gil froze as the class burst into laughter. Wait, what?

The lone red rose in Liz's pile, Ms. Greeley getting the candy-gram meant for Liz—

Wait, had they really fucked up his order?

He tried to force down his panic. Okay, no big deal, right? He could just pretend it was a dick move to kiss up to Ms. Greeley, and explain the confusion to Liz right afterwards.

But wasn't it better this way? He could laugh it off, pretend it was Roderich or someone else, and just get over it...right?

"Thank you, Gilbert," Ms. Greeley said wryly. "As touched I am by your gift, I think it's best we keep our relationship professional."

Flustered, he barely managed to mumble in assent.

The perturbed look never left Liz's face for the remainder of class.

* * *

She tugged at his sleeve the moment class ended, stopping him before he could leave. "You saw that, didn't you?" she hissed.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he said matter-of-factly. "Sorry, but I gotta get to my next class."

"Oh, please." Liz batted him on the arm. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. The _rose._ "

"Yeah?" He feigned ignorance. "From Roderich, right? Congrats."

"About that...I'm not exactly sure it's from him." She fidgeted, looking pointedly at the tiled floor.

"What are you talking about?" he scoffed. "Who else would give you one?"

"It's just...don't you think Roderich would've at least signed his name or something? I mean, anonymity isn't really his thing."

Of course. He understood her perfectly. The asshole never missed an opportunity to take credit for something.

"And you know what it said?" Liz continued, her face scrunched in deep thought. "It wasn't signed, but at the bottom, it says, 'meet me at the dance.' "

He flinched. Yeah, this was going to come back to bite him later.

"Alright then," he said, leaning against a locker, "just go to the dance and see how it goes. Maybe your secret admirer'll have the balls to tell you how he feels there. You don't have anything to lose, do you?"

Her eyes downcast, she nodded solemnly. "Yeah. I guess you're right." She snapped back to attention, eyes blazing. "Well, that doesn't mean I'm gonna stop trying! I'll find out who it is, even if it kills me!"

He let out a sigh.

It was going to be a long week.

* * *

After many days of fist shaking, sidling up to Roderich, and pleading with her friends, Liz was exhausted. On the night before, while mending her off-the-shoulder pink dress, she made a confession. "God, I have no idea what to do now."

Gil shrugged. "Just roll with it, I guess. All you can do is wait and see."

She gnawed at the inside of her cheek, conceding, "I know you're right, but still. Anyways, have any idea what you're wearing?"

"Not a clue," he said matter-of-factly, through a mouthful of red velvet cupcake.

Liz shook her head. "Yeah. I figured." She got up and went over to her room, returning with a clothing rack sheathed in plastic wrap. Gingerly, she set it down on the couch, giving him an expectant look. "Well?"

"Um, okay." Gil carefully pulled the sleeve off, revealing a suit and tie. "Whoa. Are you sure?" was all he could manage in response, brushing off a mothball near the upper-right pocket.

She gave him a crooked grin. "Positive." Without warning, she yanked him to his feet and shoved him playfully in the direction of the bathroom. "Well, don't just stand there! Go put it on!"

At a loss for what to do, he closed the door to the cream room, setting the suit down on the closed toilet seat. After several minutes of trying to intimidate the poor article of clothing into submission, he managed to squeeze into it, albeit with a couple of mismatched buttons and an upturned collar. Much to his surprise, even though the sleeves were a bit short, the suit fit miraculously well.

Gil picked up the accompanying tie, a jaunty pink-and-white striped affair, and examined it in morbid fascination. Awash in the sheer improbability of it all, he draped it around his neck, before giving himself a quick glance in the mirror and patting down the loose strands of his unruly hair.

At last somewhat satisfied with his appearance, he stepped out of the bathroom.

Liz leapt to her feet, eyeing him up and down. "Hm. Not bad, not bad at all." She zeroed in on the piece of cloth hanging limp around his neck. "Let me guess. You don't know how to put it on, do you?" After failing to get a coherent response out of him, she sighed, reaching for it. "You're hopeless. When was the last time you wore one of these anyways?"

God, her proximity was _really_ distracting.

"At my mother's funeral," he said truthfully.

"Oh." She paused. "Who put it on for you?"

"Ludwig."

"Why am I surprised?" Liz smiled in faint amusement, stepping back once she had fixed his buttons and straightened his collar. "There. I had a hunch it would look great on you. We couldn't have showing up to the dance in your ratty jeans, now could we?"

"Thanks for your concern." He paused. "Where the hell did you get a suit anyways?"

She hesitated. "It was my dad's."

His eyes widened in surprise. "Seriously?"

Liz nodded, averting her eyes. "Mom and I were doing some spring cleaning a few years ago, so...yeah. She found it, tried to throw it away, but I sort of just hid it in my closet? Anyway, I'm just glad I found a good use for it."

He gaped at it in wonder. "Just...whoa. Are you sure about this?"

She smiled at him. "Modesty doesn't suit you, Beilschmidt. Just wear the goddamn thing and have yourself an amazing time! You deserve that much."

* * *

On the night of the dance, Katarina dropped the pair off at school, giving them each a swift kiss on the cheek before speeding away. After exchanging an eye roll, they entered the gymnasium, where the rest of the crew was waiting, Alfred setting up his rented DJ equipment and anxiously rearranging his playlists. A few last-minute decoration decisions a la Feliks and plenty of shouting later, the disco ball and strobe-lights had been strung upon the ceiling, the dessert and punch bowl tables set up, and dance floor burnished to a shine.

By the time seven o'clock rolled around, people began slowly filtering in, guided to their tables by club members, parent chaperones, and student volunteers. Couples, arm-and-arm, ooh-ed and ahh-ed at the paper mache hearts and lace doily chains, sitting down to nibble at their heart-shaped cookies as One Direction played in the background.

"This is a god-awful song," Arthur grumbled, offering a plate of bonbons to the passerby. "Alfred has such a shitty taste in music."

Liz, smiling sweetly as she dished out plastic cups of punch, began humming even more loudly.

Although she seemed content enough, he couldn't help feel that something was off.

"Hey...you okay?" he finally plucked up the courage to say at a quarter to ten.

She refused to look at him, toying with a strand of hair.

"Sorry," she murmured, fingering an empty plastic cup. "It's just...I wanted it to be him. All this time, I hoped he'd show up with flowers and chocolates and tell me that he loved me and...you know, silly fantasies like that. In your words, girlish bullcrap. Even some random guy would be better than _this_."

 _Way to lay on the guilt_ , he mused, but chose not to speak up.

"Yo, Gilster!"

Francis, in a baby-blue suit and his hair slicked back, moseyed over to the table. "How's it shakin', babe?"

"If you think ladling punch is exciting, sure, I'm great," Gil quipped, glancing around. "I assume you don't have a date and showed up here anyways? That's so like you."

He grinned. "The lovelies are all over me, _mon ami_. How could I not?"

"Yeah, yeah. What do you want?"

Francis mock-pouted, batting his eyelashes. "Won't you party with your lonely, single best friend? Come on, dude. Live a little."

He sighed, glancing at Liz. She smiled faintly at him, gesturing to the dance floor. "Go on. I can take it from here. Feliks and Natalya are about to take over anyways." The odd pair had begun a strange dance-off in the center of the crowd, Natalya breakdancing intensely and Feliks performing some sort of sensual grind on the floor.

"I'm not sure if you'll be able to stop them," Gil barely tried to stifle his laughter, "but thanks. Come join us later, okay?" The words had barely left his mouth when Francis whisked him away to the mass of gyrating bodies, the heat enveloping him.

His friend grinned, waving his arms in a windshield wiper-like motion. "That suit is pretty sweet. Where did you get it?"

"Liz gave it to me."

Francis smirked, bobbing his head to the pounding rhythm. "And you say you two don't have a thing going on. She doesn't have a date tonight, does she? So why don't you steal her away while you've got the chance?"

"No way," Gil said, still watching her. "She honestly expected him to come."

Francis rolled his eyes. "Fine. But, even if you _don't_ want to date her...it wouldn't hurt to ask for a dance, right? She looks lonely. You never know: you just might make her night. You're a knight in shining armor, Gilbert." His friend shoved him away with a crooked grin. "Now go get your princess."

Bewildered, he tentatively approached the punch table. "Hey," he said nonchalantly.

She looked up, raising an eyebrow at him. "What? Francis' sexy moves too much for you?"

"Ha ha," he managed, before glancing behind him. Somehow, Francis had managed to navigate his way through the crowd and was whispering something in Alfred's ear. The pounding dubstep music stopped abruptly, prompting defiant groans from the crowd.

"No worries, everyone!" Alfred called out. "By request, it's time for the couples dance!"

Everyone cheered once as the first chords of "Stairway to Heaven" began to play.

He held his hand out to her. "May I have this dance?"

She gave him a dubious look, but eventually took his hand, letting him guide her over to the dance floor.

Liz wrapped her arms around his neck, and Gil put his hands on her waist, inhaling whiffs of her rose perfume with every breath he took. Both uncertain of what to do, they began to sway back and forth.

"I can't dance," he confessed, laughing nervously. "Sorry if I mutilate your feet."

"That goes for both of us." She giggled.

They lapsed into uncomfortable silence.

"This is how I imagined it to be with him," she said quietly. "Why can't anything just work out in my love life? All I wanted was a romantic night out. Was that really too much to ask? And now, I'll never know who it was."

The guilt was driving him over the edge.

"Liz?"

"Yeah?"

"That red rose? It was me."

She blinked at him. "What? You're joking, right?"

He shook his head. "It was me. I meant to send the white one to you and a red to Ms. Greeley, as a prank, but I think my order got mixed up, and...shit, I'm really sorry for making you upset. I didn't know it would get this bad, and I really wanted to tell you, but at the same time I thought it would be okay if you thought it was Roderich and I—"

She pressed a finger to his lips, resting her head against his shoulder. "Don't ruin the moment."

They stayed like for a while, rocking on their heels.

"You're not such a bad Valentine," she said.

And that in itself made him happier than he wanted to admit.


	17. Chapter 17

"I have a crush," Natalya announced abruptly, being the first to volunteer for Ms. Braginski's "share your inner turmoil" activity. She seemed to be unperturbed by this fact, picking at her shiny black nail polish. "And before anyone asks, it's on a guy."

Cue the mental spit-take.

"You what?!" Arthur spluttered, as surprised as anyone had ever seen him.

Feliks sniggered. "Yeah, right."

"For once, I agree with Twinkle Toes over here," Lovino added. "She probably wants to convince us that she's not a lesbian."

"If you were gay," Heracles sang under his breath, "that would be okay."

She shot them all dirty scowls, crossing her arms and huffing. "God, is it really _that_ surprising?"

Gil gagged. A lovey-dovey goth was _not_ something he wanted to deal with. Needing to share an exasperated look with someone, he glanced over to Liz.

On the contrary, however, she was sitting at the very edge of her seat, nearly bouncing on the balls of her feet. Her gaze flitted over to him, her eyes gleaming with a strange sort of fervor as she flashed him a thumbs-up.

He grinned uneasily at her. If anything, she should have been more weirded out by the sudden revelation.

Gil was further appalled when she let out an immensely girlish squeal. "You're in love? Oh my God, that's so _cute_."

_What._

It wasn't even a question.

Natalya's cheeks were tinged with pink. "Well, when you put it _that_ way," she muttered. "And please, don't call me cute."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "At least we're clear on _one_ thing."

"You wanna go, fartface?" she demanded, brandishing her stiletto like a sword.

Ms. Braginski seemed at a loss for words. "Wow, Natalya...this is quite the milestone."

Natalya ignored her sister. "Okay, fine. I have a crush. Big whoop. And now can we have a pity party?"

"No, no," Liz assured her. "I'm really happy for you!"

"Seriously?" Natalya scoffed.

"So, care to tell me who it is?"

"Not especially."

"Okay...you like him a lot, don't you?"

"I wouldn't tell you if I didn't, right?"

"Fine. I'm assuming that you really, really want to get together with him?"

"That would be nice," she said wistfully.

Everyone in the room, save for Natalya herself, repressed a shudder.

However, Liz was undeterred, sitting forward even more eagerly in her chair. "Any plans on how to do that?"

Natalya shook her head.

"Then it looks like you need some help from the love doctor!" she declared, whipping a coupon book out of her backpack. "You wouldn't believe how many sales there are around this time of year! We can fix you up with a new wardrobe in no time."

Arthur snickered. "What, is it Goth Appreciation Month or something?"

"Please, don't call me goth," said goth interjected.

Liz scowled at him. "No, idiot. S _pringtime_. You know, flowers. Chirpy little birds."

Natalya sighed. "Well, he _does_ like flowers."

Gil had never been more shocked in his life. The mopey Natalya, having a crush on some guy who liked something entirely normal? Well, that eliminated the possibility of it being anyone in her immediate friends circle— a group of mopey weirdos that built brilliant works of art out of their disgusting cafeteria meatloaf.

"Perfect!" Liz warbled, ignoring the repulsed looks of her clubmates. "You free this Sunday, at ten?" Taking Natalya's lack of any Satanic mumbling to be a positive response, she clapped her hands together. "Excellent! Looks like we ladies got ourselves a shopping trip."

Ms. Braginski paled rather noticeably. "I think I'll pass."

* * *

That Sunday, Gil was woken by the incessant pounding of his phone, sitting by his nightstand, Gilbird cheeping in protest. Groaning, he slammed his fingers onto the answer button. "What the fuck, Liz? I was _sleeping_."

"Yeah, yeah, cry me a river," she said, agitated. "Come over here, will you?"

"Over where?" he asked numbly, climbing out of bed to refill Gilbird's food dish.

"You seriously don't know? Natalya? _Shopping trip_?"

He would have found this situation quite amusing had he not been the victim of a throbbing headache. "Right. Her unrequited love. Boohoo. So why the hell do I have to be there?"

"I'm getting to that, Sleeping Beau—" There was a loud banging sound in the background. " _For Christ's sake_ , Natalya, put on the fucking— okay, never mind." Liz lowered her voice, hissing, "Gil, I'm not sure how long I can _take_ this anymore. Please, I just need— I need someone here with me. I'm at Magnolia's— you know, that little boutique near my house? Can you please get there ASAP?"

"Call Roddy-boy," he snapped back, on the verge of hanging up. "I'm busy."

She huffed. "Why does it always have to come back to _him_? That's why I'm asking _you_ , because, he— he wouldn't listen."

Why did that make him feel oddly gratified?

Gil rolled his eyes, suppressing this thought. "Right. I forgot. I'm your _errand boy_."

"No, no, that's not it at all!" She sounded vaguely panicked. "It's just...please, Gil. I need a sanity check right now. Help me force her into these outfits, and...okay, fine! I'll bake you fudge brownies!"

She sure knew how to lay on the guilt. Not to mention exploit his sweet tooth.

He heaved a sigh, shrugging on his jacket. "Be there in ten."

* * *

Gil was greeted by a flustered store manager upon walking into the boutique only three blocks away from Liz's apartment. The woman grimaced at the sound of an echoing bang coming from the changing room, wetting her lips.

"You're her friend, right?" she said under her breath. "I'd be careful if I were you."

"Um, yeah. Thanks."

At that moment, the changing room door was flung open, the almost unrecognizable Natalya shoved out. Running her fingers through her hair, she scowled at him. "What the hell are you doing here, Beilschmidt?"

Gil could only gawk.

She was wearing plain black flats, a flowery miniskirt, and a ruffled white blouse, her dirty-blonde hair braided down her back. All signs of her ghostly white foundation, plum lipstick, and chunky eyeliner had disappeared, replaced instead by pale pink lipgloss.

"Whoa...Natalya. Wow."

Liz stepped out soon after, beaming wearily. "Isn't she just adorable?"

Natalya was rather flustered. "This just...this just isn't me," she protested, pawing at the front of her shirt. "Can I just go now?"

"Yes, please," the store manager mumbled.

Liz glowered at her, before plastering on a movie-star smile. "Don't say that! You look amazing. Besides, you really like this guy, don't you?"

"Yeah, I do, but...does it really matter whether I dress the way I want or not?" she said grumpily, toying with the hem of the skirt. "I mean, wearing this is embarrassing enough, but...it's not fair to him if I pretend I'm something I'm not. I don't want him to think I'm a fake."

Gil admitted that she had a point.

"Come on, Natalya!" she wheedled. You're totally missing the point. I'm not trying to change you— no way! You just have to make a good first impression, and before you know it, you'll have him wrapped him around your little finger. Honestly, I'm not trying to force you into anything. All I want is for you to get your fairytale ending."

Natalya scowled. "I can't _believe_ you. You're seriously forcing that happy ending onto me just because you can't get it for yourself? Do you even know what _I_ want?"

Liz's jaw went slack. "Hey...I didn't—"

Natalya shook her head, braid bobbing up and down. "Never mind. That was uncalled for. I didn't mean to— you know. It's just...sorry. You're right. You're so right." She shrunk away, gesturing dispassionately at her blouse. "I just...need some time to think about. I'll be in the dressing room if you need me."

A creak of a door and a sigh of relief from the store manager, and she was gone.

Liz pursed her lips, rubbing at her temples. "Hey, Beilschmidt," she said weakly, as if just noticing his arrival. "Nice of you to show up. Wanna help me find another outfit?"

Without waiting for a reply, she made a jerky motion to the right, grabbing at a rack of skimpy tank-tops. Combing through the clothing with renewed fervor, she snatched a pale lilac spaghetti strap from somewhere among the blur of color, dangling it in Gil's face. "How's this? I think this color would look really good on her."

Aggravation really didn't suit her. Never mind that she was horrible at hiding it.

Gil sighed, inching away from her to finger an ornate butterfly hairpin on a nearby jewelry display. Did she honestly think that pretending it had never happened would work on him? "Was that...was it true?"

"No. Yes. Sort of," she admitted, slumping down into a plush armchair. "God, why do I always have to screw everything up? Things with Roderich aren't working out, I can never talk to him about anything, and...I just wanted _someone's_ love life to work out, you know?"

She chuckled bitterly."But now, all I've done is piss her off, just when I thought we were getting to know one another."

"Well, you did kind of have unfair expectations for her," he said cautiously. I guess you just have to give her some space now."

"Hey, give me that hairpin," she said abruptly.

"Um...okay." Puzzled, he tossed it to her.

She caught it, turning it so that its blue rhinestones caught the light. "Huh. You don't have a bad eye for accessories. Now we need to find a matching outfit." Turning around, she heaved a sigh. "Thanks. I don't think I say it enough, but...I appreciate you being here for me."

Well, that was certainly out-of-character.

"Yeah, no problem," he muttered, watching in a daze as she dived into the other racks, tossing coat hangers behind in her in a mad frenzy. Every once in a while, she would come back to him, shoving blouse after and blouse in his face to the point where it was almost endearing.

Not that he'd ever tell _her_ that.

* * *

"I'm gonna do it," Natalya told herself repeatedly, clutching a card to her chest. "I'm putting this in his locker, and asking him out."

"If you say so," Gil said uncertainly, fanning himself with a college brochure he had picked up from outside of the front office, where they were standing now. "So just do it."

It was horribly warm for mid-March, the sun beating down on their heads and little purple wildflowers showering their sneeze-inducing pollen down on them. Just what did he like about gardening, again?

She blushed. "It's none of your business."

He grinned cheekily. "Really?"

Liz opened the door to the office, smiling graciously at Natalya. "Hey, Natalya. Are you ready?"

Her face was now a shade of pale purple. "I-I wasn't waiting for you, it's just…" She steeled herself. "I'd rather do it alone. Put it in his locker, I mean. I really can't do it with you guys staring at me."

Gil and Liz exchanged an amused look.

He shrugged, the first to break the ice. "If that's what you want, we're not stopping you."

She nodded curtly at him, before flouncing off.

Gil pressed a finger to his lips, waiting until the girl's clacking footsteps had faded away into the distance. He grabbed Liz's arm, taking furtive steps down the hallway she had taken. "Come on, before we lose her."

Liz smirked. "So you _were_ curious."

"Well, yeah. Who wouldn't be?" He grinned back, continuing to tip-toe and keeping an eye on Natalya's retreating back— not difficult, considering the putrid trail of perfume she left behind with her every step.

"Who in the world thinks that this smells _good_?" she hissed, nudging him in the ribs. "It's like...I don't know. Chewed-up tampon or something."

Gil all but shoved his fist into his mouth to stifle his laughter.

Several covert hallway crossings later, they had somehow wound up in the seniors' wing. Brows furrowed in concentration, they watched as Natalya traced her fingers across the beige lockers that were in desperate need of a new paint job, mumbling the numbers under her breath. Finally, she seemed to find what she was looking for, shoving the note into locker number 456's slits. Glancing around, she took off in the opposite direction, nearly tripping over her clunky heels in her mad dash out of sight.

Liz's eyebrows knitted together. "So she has a crush on a senior...huh."

"Ivan's a senior, right?" Gil asked anxiously. "She seems like an incesty gal. Not a lesbian, but desperately in love with her equally creepy older brother...sounds like a really crappy movie premise."

But she wasn't listening to him. "Hey...did you get a good look at her note?"

"No," he said, caught off-guard. "The bitch wouldn't even let me near it, for Christ's sake."

The girl smiled mysteriously. "You're lucky that I did, then. The date's on Saturday morning, and you're sure as shit lucky we've both got front-row seats."

* * *

And so, that was how Gilbert Beilschmidt ended up spending his precious Saturday morning not sleeping in, but sitting in a café and dressed in disguise- a baggy hoodie, gray sweats, and a baseball cap to cover up his shock of white hair.

Liz was sitting across from him at a table in the corner, similarly dressed. It was a comparatively normal place, with paintings in gilded frames hung on its walls and cheery waitresses toting trays laden with scones and tea. Considering Natalya's personality, he was surprised she hadn't chosen a date location of the black magic variety.

"Are you sure she won't notice us?" Gil whispered.

Liz, halting just before she could pick up the flimsy menu, seemed to be preoccupied with something else.

"Um, Liz? You okay?"

He whipped his head around, following the direction of her shaking finger.

Much to his astonishment, none other than Feliks Łukasiewicz sat only three tables to their left, fiddling anxiously with his purple tie. The senior was uncharacteristically jittery, eyes flickering up at the tiniest of movements.

Wait... _senior_.

Gil tore his eyes away from him. "You don't think that—"

Liz laughed it off, albeit nervously. "I'm sure it's just a coincidence. He's just waiting for his boyfriend—"

Natalya Braginski entered the cafe, wearing outfit Liz had picked out for her during their fateful shopping trip. Miraculously, she actually looked halfway pleasant, her hair combed out this time and billowing around her shoulders. Reddening at the sight of Feliks, she took a deep breath, before striding over to him.

Feliks didn't even recognize her until she was standing right in front of his table, nearly spitting out his mouthful of coffee. "N-Natalya?! It was from _you_?"

Had Gil not been on disguise mode, he might have blurted out the same exact thing. He glanced back to Liz, mildly amused to see the astonished look on her face.

Maybe opposites really _did_ attract. Was the stiletto-threatening just a front, after all?

Back to the conversation. There was no way he was going to miss this.

"What the hell are you wearing?" Feliks demanded, his gaze flitting from her dangly silver earrings to the flats. "It's almost... _pedestrian_."

Her face colored immediately. "I thought," she mumbled, "I thought you would like it."

"Not that I don't— really, it looks awesome sauce on you— it's just...I don't know. I appreciate good fashion and all, but it's just not you _._ You know? I don't usually like the dark look, but to be honest, you really rock it." He took a crumpled-up piece of paper out of his pocket. "Even if you do have feelings for me...well, as Coco Cha—"

"I don't give a crap about your stupid Coco Chanel said!" Natalya snarled.

By this time, everyone in the cafe was watching the drama unfold.

Feliks looked appalled, but merely looked down. "All I wanted to say," he said, as meek as Gil had ever seen him, "was that you don't have to change who you are for people to like you."

Her eyes brimmed with tears. "That's just it, isn't it? Gothic, emo _Natalya,_ nothing but the stupid little sophomore pyro delinquent chick that follows you around. Don't even try to lie to me! I can't believe I ever thought that we were...we were—" Natalya shrunk away from him, taking baby steps backwards towards the entrance. "I'm sorry," she said thickly. "I shouldn't have given you that note. You shouldn't have showed—"

Feliks grabbed her wrist before she could take another step. "Please, Natalya. Listen to me. I never thought of you that way of all. It's just that...I don't know. I'm still in shock. I just want...I just want to know why."

Natalya shook her head. "You're funny. You're nice. Even if all you did was insult me, you treated me like I was a person, not some weird rumor that's been going around ever since I was in middle school. Sure, you're obnoxious and weird and I never get anything you say or do, but...there's always something I liked about you." She paused, nodding triumphantly. "There. I said it."

If Gil didn't know better, he'd say that Liz was tearing up beneath her sunglasses.

Nah, just a trick of the light.

"So, if you don't mind," she said tentatively, "can you just give me an answer?"

He shook his head sadly. "This is just so sudden, I...need some time to think about it. I'm still figuring tons of things about myself, so...I don't think I'm ready yet."

She squeezed her eyes shut. "Even so...could we just have our date now?"

Feliks smiled warmly, squeezing her hand and brushing his lips against her cheek. "I'd be delighted, Natalya."

Still pink from the abrupt kiss, she nearly impaled herself while trying to sit down, fumbling with her napkin. Flushing furiously, she barely managed to make conversation with him, staring pointedly at her plate.

"...so, who did your makeup? It looks absolutely ravishing," Feliks was saying pleasantly, resting his elbows casually on the tablecloth.

Natalya reddened even further. "My sister."

"Ah, a beauty queen as always. I should ask her for some fashion advice."

"Hm."

Out of the blue, Liz let out an animalistic howl, tearing off her glasses as she ran out of the cafe, sobbing. Out of joy or despair, Gil couldn't quite say, but as he smiled underneath the high collar of his hoodie, he thought that maybe he felt the same way.


	18. Chapter 18

His face scrunched up in concentration, Gil scooped a shovel full of dirt out of the ground, gently burying a tulip bulb inside the hole it made and patting down the rich black soil.

"Wow, I wish you were that nice to other people." Liz snorted, leaning against the rusty fence. "It's like they're your babies or something."

"Well, of course— we're planting the awesomest garden ever, right?" He grinned at her, wiping the sweat off his forehead. "Oh, nice outfit, by the way." He gestured to her oversized banana yellow t-shirt and overalls.

She stuck her tongue out at him. "Like I'm gonna get my nice clothes dirty gardening _you_."

"Aren't you the sweetest thing?" he said, digging yet another hole. "Anyways, get your ass over here. This garden ain't gonna plant itself, you know."

She rolled her eyes. "Why do I even bother?"

In spite of her complaints, Liz hopped over the fence to kneel besides him, accepting a hand shovel. "So," she said, spreading fertilizer over a daffodil bulb, "you're more of a flower guy, then?"

"Um, sort of?" He shrugged. "I still need to save up a bit more, but I do really want to get started on cucumbers and tomatoes when it's warmer. Squash and pumpkins, too, but I think I need more space to grow those and I hear they're pretty inva—"

Gil stopped when she started to laugh. "What?"

She stifled another high-pitched giggle. "Nothing," she said, "it's just funny how you get into these sort of things, and well...it's hard to explain."

He shook his head. Dejavu all over again, it seemed. " _Women._ "

* * *

Gil was busy nodding off during physics when Antonio tossed a note onto his desk. He waited until the teacher had turned her back to pick it up, flattening out the crumpled loose-leaf.

_Party on Fri? Juan's parents are away, and he invited us!_

Oh, right. Stoner Juan— someone he'd been pretty close with before reconciling with Liz. Truth be told, he did feel a bit guilty about abandoning his old friend group— was this their way of forgiving him? If so, then he'd feel terrible about flaking on them.

Drumming a beat against the surface of his desk, he impatiently waited for the class to finish, a lagging ten minutes that seemed to be last for eternity. Once the bell rang, he leapt to his feet, hurriedly joining Antonio near the third floor water fountain.

"Well? You going?" his friend asked.

Gil shrugged. "I guess? I feel kind of bad about ditching him. And you?"

"Sorry, _amigo_. Can't make it," he said coyly.

Gil narrowed his eyes at him. How long had he known Antonio already? Four or five years? Well, however long it had been, one thing was for certain: it was as plain as day when his friend was keeping something from him.

"Spit it out, Tony."

"Okay, you got me." Antonio grinned impishly. "Let's just say...I have a hot date that day."

Gil almost choked on his spit. "You-what?!" he sputtered. "Who the hell would want to date _you_?"

"The one and only Bella Coppens," he declared. "You know, that artsy sophomore? We have study hall together."

 _Bella?_ He winced, desperately suppressing the memory of the catastrophic double-date. "Whoa, seriously? Congrats, man."

Antonio frowned, cocking his head to the side. "What's up? I thought you'd be happy for me!"

Gil vehemently shook his head. "Dude, of course I am It's just that I...I went on a date with her before. But yeah. That doesn't really matter anymore. Honestly, she's really great."

Antonio groaned, clapping a hand to his forehead. "What the fuck, Gil? Seriously, _pendejo_ , you better not have already screwed this up for me."

"It'll be totally fine," Gil assured him. "I don't think I scared her _that_ much."

"So, what _did_ you do?" Antonio raised an eyebrow at him.

"Come on, Tony, have a little faith in me," Gil protested, but caved under the pressure of his friend's skeptical look. "Okay, okay. I may have gotten into a fight with Liz in the middle of the restaurant, but that doesn't mean—"

_Thunk!_

"Oh. He fainted."

* * *

"So, weekend plans?" Liz asked, as they lounged on the couch. "Not that I'm actually interested."

Gil swallowed his mouthful of poundcake. "Funny that you ask. I actually got invited to a party today."

"Really?" The sound of pencil scratches subsided. "Whose?"

"Oh, it's Juan's," he said nonchalantly. "You know, that crew."

Much to his surprise, she frowned. He cocked his head at her. "Um…is something wrong?"

She blinked owlishly for a moment, before shaking her head. "No, it's just...do you really think that's the best idea? They're not the greatest influences on you, you know."

"Come on, Liz," Gil protested. "They're cool guys!"

"Cool guys that regularly vandalize grocery stores and get Fs in every class?" Liz crossed her arms over her chest, giving him a dubious look. "Yeah, totally."

"Oh, yeah?" he challenged. "I'm not the one with the douchey boyfriend here!"

She glowered at him. "Does _everything_ have to be about him? God, it's like you're jealous of him or something!"

Dead silence.

Practically smoldering with outrage, Gil stood up, zipping up his backpack and slinging it over his shoulders. Liz made a strangled sound, and huffed as he stormed out the door. "Fine, go to your stupid party. See if I care!"

* * *

Still fuming, Gil skipped the Oyster Club meeting the next day and mucked around school for a couple of hours, before heading straight to Juan's house— a small stucco home with a decrepit swingset in the back and an expansive flower garden. Resisting the urge to pause and examine the marigolds, he knocked on the door. "Hey, man. It's Gil."

The door swung open, and there was Juan, grinning crookedly from ear to ear. There was a dangerous twinkle in his eyes. "Yo, Gil! It's been a while."

"Yeah, you can say that again," Gil laughed, peering around him. "Wow, nothing's changed."

Juan guffawed, patting him on the back. "Well, yeah, it's only been, what, a few months? Glad to have you back, buddy. Are we gonna have the most awesome party tonight, or what?" When Gil hesitated, he frowned. "That club's changed you, dude."

"Seriously, man?" Gil let out a brittle laugh. "I don't think so."

"Yeah, but that Elizaveta girl." Juan shook his head forlornly. "You two seem way too close. Are you sure nothing's going on?"

He felt a pang of guilt in his stomach, but just laughed it off. "Fuck, no. She's the worst. What kind of guy do you think I am?" _I'm abandoning her again_ , he thought to himself.

Juan snickered, clapping him on the shoulder. "That's my Gil. Now, why don't we head downstairs? Everyone's waiting!"

"Um, yeah, awesome," he managed. "So, what are the plans for tonight?"

His smile only broadened as he beckoned Gil over to a cooler that had been pushed to the edge of the living room. A cool gust of hair smacked him in the face as the lid was opened, a sea of half-melted ice and floating cans swirling around inside.

Juan leaned forward, picking a can of beer up and tossing it to Gil. "Here's your poison. We're gonna get so fucking wasted tonight."

That was the last thing he wanted, considering he had an enormous physics test the next day. However, he nodded, giving his friend a thin-lipped smile as he accepted the can. Fingers trembling, he pushed the tab down, hesitantly taking a sip. It was a difficult to fight down a grimace; the bubbling liquid was as gross-tasting as he remembered.

What if Liz was right? Was he just being stubborn? Juan didn't have the cleanest record, and the rest of the group was, if anything, worse. He had sworn to never disappoint Ludwig again, and here he was, pulled back into the thick of it all.

Lowering the can, he flashed Juan a reluctant thumbs-up. "Okay. I'm ready."

His friend grunted in response, wrapping his arms around the cooler and lifting it up. "Cool. The gang is waiting for us." He opened the door to his basement, stumbling down the steps until they reached the hardwood floor of the musty room.

A group of his old friends was already milling around, gathered by the beaten-down foosball table, but fell silent at the sight of him. A girl he had sort of known in his sophomore year, Carrie, whistled. "Thanks for showing up, asshole. It's about fucking time."

Juan laughed good-naturedly, setting the cooler down on the futon. "No need to be so rude. We're here to welcome Gil back into the gang!"

"And besides," a senior he barely knew chimed in, "we've got beer."

The group seemed to forget their grudge against him in an instant, swamping the cooler and pulling out cans. The girls giggled as the boys chugged down can after can, smacking their lips in satisfaction. Gil could only watch everything unfold, morbidly fascinated with the spectacle.

Juan nodded at him. "I know a guy who can set you up with a fake, if you want."

"A fake?" Gil asked, still dazed.

"A fake ID, _loser_ ," Carrie said scathingly. "What are you, twelve?"

"Be nice, Carrie," Juan chided.

"Um, I think I'll pass," Gil said hurriedly, taking a sip from the mostly full can in his hand.

A few minutes later, Juan plugged his iPhone into a speaker, turning on some loud EDM dance track. Everyone cheered as the pounding filled the air, setting their drinks down to jump up and down on the makeshift dance floor.

Gil tentatively swayed back and forth to the beat. Suddenly, Carrie grabbed his arm, pulling him into the thick of the sweaty crowd. She smiled coyly at him, lacing their fingers together and placing his hand on her hip. "Aw, is Gilly getting nervous?"

He laughed uneasily, leaning away from her. "Well, I don't really dance. You should find someone else."

She tilted her head to the side, pursing her lips. "Really? You didn't have a problem with Lizzie at the Valentine's Day dance. Don't tell me you actually like her more than me." To emphasize her point, she rested a hand on his cheek, batting her eyelashes at him.

He fought back a wince, wetting his lips. "Of course not. It's just, I've known her forever, and we barely know each other at all—"

She smirked at him. "Wanna fix that?"

No, no, no. Why was he thinking of Liz now? Why did he feel like such a...traitor?

He thought of that hurt look on her face, of her pretty, pretty green eyes and tangles of chestnut hair. Vanilla and cinnamon.

Another boy with dreadlocks tapped her on the shoulder. "Come on, Carrie, you're missing out on the fun. Let's go."

"Well, I suppose not." She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, and let him go. "See you later, Gil."

"Um, yeah." He couldn't help but feel a surge of relief as he watched the boy lead her away.

By eleven, so many more people had come to the party that Juan's spacious basement was to starting to feel like a broom closet. The music had grown exponentially louder, thundering out dubstep with a volume that must have woken everyone in a ten-mile radius, not to mention how noisy the students themselves were being, drunkenly screaming and singing along to their hearts' content.

God, it made him sick. Or maybe that was just the three cans of beer that Juan practically forced down his throat.

Fully convinced that he was the most sober person in the room, Gil was heading to the bathroom for some peace and quiet when Juan grabbed onto his shoulder. "Hey, man. Is something up?"

"Yo, Gil," he slurred, his eyes glazed over. "We're playing a drinking game in the guest bedroom. It's gonna be a riot! You should totally come."

"Um, no thanks." Gil tried to pull away, but Juan only tightened his grip.

"You know, I was really bummed out when you ditched us," he said glumly. "I thought you liked _them_ better than us. When you came here today...well, I kind of thought you'd actually picked us over that whiny bitch."

As much as he desperately wanted to defend Liz's honor, he couldn't help but feel guilty again. Juan had gone out of his way to invite him to his party, and here he was, being a crappy friend and ignoring him.

"Just for a little while, I s'pose," Gil said reluctantly.

"Yes!" Juan exclaimed, giving his shoulder a squeeze. "That's my Gil!" Before he could protest, Juan was shouting for everyone to make way for them. The crowd parted obediently to the side, giving them a clear path to the guest bedroom in the corner.

It was dark inside, almost blindingly so. Juan closed the door, pulling him into the circle. Still wary, Gil eased himself to the floor, sitting in a cross-legged position like the rest.

"Oh, look who's here," Carrie said. "What are you gonna do, cry for your mama?"

Luckily, Juan laughed before he could say anything. "Don't worry about her, Gil. She's just PMS-ing." Ignoring Carrie's glower, he reached under the bed, pulling out an icy bottle of vodka. "Anyone up for a round of 'I've Never?'"

Everyone, minus Gil, cheered in assent.

"Alright!" Juan bellowed, placing the bottle in the middle of their circle. "Who wants to go first?"

Carrie raised her hand first. "Ooh, me!"

Gil felt a sinking feeling of dread in his stomach.

She smirked at him. "Okay, so...I've never been tutored by a Hungarian."

_What?_

When he didn't move, everyone looked expectantly at him. "Well, Gil?" she demanded. "What are you waiting for?"

Gil just shook his head, snatching the bottle up and taking a long swig. Trying not to grimace at the burn, he plastered a grin onto his face, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Delicious. I feel bad for y'all who don't have a Hungarian tutor."

The circle tittered, but Juan motioned for them to carry on.

The boy sitting to his right cocked his head to the side. "I've never flunked five history tests in a row."

Just how many people knew about that? And besides, that was at the beginning of the school year— before Liz.

Gil just sighed, taking another drink. Much to his amusement, he wasn't the only one.

It went on for a while, each player doing his or her best to get Gil to drink. In less than a half an hour, he was flat-out drunk, his mind swarmed in a pleasant fog that dulled his senses and numbed his tongue. He felt uncharacteristically giddy and light, like he was floating.

After his seventh drink, a siren sounded, flashing red lights visible from behind the drawn blinds of the window. Juan swore under his breath, clambering to his feet and gesturing for everyone to follow him. The group stood up in a drunken daze, staggering into the blinding light of the basement.

Shoving his way through the sea of partying students, beer kegs, and silver streamers, Juan screamed for attention. However, the music was too loud for here him. Just as he was giving up and storming to the garage to make an escape, the door was kicked open, two uniformed officers stepping inside.

The first, a mustached man with a twinkle of his eyes, looked faintly amused. "Guess we're not getting off early, Craig."

The second officer merely rolled his eyes. "Shut up, Joe." He tried to use his megaphone to get everyone's attention; when no one paid him any heed, he snatched a nearby confetti gun and fired it into the air. A couple of girls screamed, but shut up when the officer hopped onto a stool.

"Listen up!" he shouted. "We've received noise complaints from your neighbors, so if y'all got half a brain, give me all your booze and get on home!"

"What, so you can hoard it all for yourselves?" Carrie slurred. "Little shits."

Gil, his judgment clouded by the alcohol, stumbled his way to the door and loomed over Craig. "Yeah! Little shits!"

Joe raised his bushy brows, yawning pointedly. "Aren't you a rebel?"

Infuriated, Gil swung his fist, striking him across the face and sending him reeling back. Joe raised a hand to the weal on his cheek, his face twisted into rage. "Oh, you asked for it," he said venomously, tackling Gil onto the ground and holding onto his wrists while he flailed uselessly around.

Craig, obviously relieved that his partner was finally taking action, picked up the megaphone once more. "Get out of here if you know what's good for you!" Immediately, the room fell into chaos as the partygoers scrambled to leave, a helpless Juan carried along by the flow of the crowd.

"Damn, this guy is pretty strong," Joe grunted. "A little help here, Craig."

Gil grinned crookedly, his face pressed to the reeking carpet. "Football training, bitch."

It was the last thing he said before blacking out.


	19. Chapter 19

When Gil woke up, a headache pounding through his head, all he could see was white. Walls slathered in cracking white paint, white tiled flooring, his hands tied to the back of a white—

Wait...his hands were _tied_?

"Nice of you to come around, loser."

That voice. Gil's cheek twitched on impulse, his face twisting into a grimace when he remembered what had just happened. "I really don't need your shit right now, Liz."

She was sitting behind a glass window he hadn't noticed previously, leaning against a worn wooden counter and yawning, noticeable bags under her red-rimmed eyes.

Gil squinted at the wall clock. 3:43. He winced, suddenly regretting his outburst.

"So, are you here to gloat?" He heaved a sigh. "If you are, I don't blame you."

"If only." She exhaled slowly, idly tapping her foot on the ground. "But sadly, I'm here by Ms. Ackerman's request."

"Ms. Ackerman? The old hag?" He could only gape. "Is she...is she here?"

Liz nodded. "Yep. She's negotiating with the police right now, and yeah, she's not too happy.. She said you'd want me to be here with you while you got the news."

"Ugh," he groaned. "Just fucking fantastic. What is it now, ten years in juvy?"

"Well, the nice security lady told me that since this was your first offense, they'll be fairly lenient with you. You probably get something on your record, and a fine if you're unlucky, but other than that, you'll be fine." Liz hesitated. "Well, except for one thing."

Just as he was about to relax, he stiffened. "Well, what? Don't leave me hanging."

She winced, averting her eyes. "I think you know what I mean."

Only then did he realize. "Shit. _Ludwig_."

"Bingo," Liz said drily. "He doesn't know yet, but when he finds it, prepare for a shitstorm. Ms. Ackerman said that it's best if you stayed with us for a little while."

"What? But what about my stuff?" he protested.

"My mom's picking it up right now," Liz said, without missing a beat. "Everything's already been arranged. You'll steer clear of him until we sort everything out."

"And how long is that supposed to take?" he demanded, suddenly feeling even more pathetic and helpless than before.

"As much time as we need for to figure it out." She stood up, stretching her arms above her head. "I should check to see how things are on Ms. Ackerman's end. Catch you later, Gil."

Watching her trudge out of the room, he heaved a sigh.

Why did he always manage to fuck things up?

* * *

"You can sleep on the couch." Liz flung a quilt onto the plush sofa, smoothing out the crinkles, and fluffed one of her grandmother's hand-embroidered pillows. "Unless you'd prefer my bed, of course."

"Nah, this is fine," Gil assured her, plopping down and kicking his feet onto the armrest. "It's probably covered with your period blood anyway."

She rolled her eyes. "And I thought that getting arrested would knock some maturity into you."

He looked pointedly down at the ground, and she sighed. "Come on, Gil. Let's get you tucked in."

"Tucked in?" He cocked his head to the side. "Wait, you mean— whoa!"

Liz tackled him, practically shoving him underneath the covers before he could protest. She pressed the pillow into his face, and he let out a muffled shout. "Oh, hush you. Let me talk, okay?"

He hesitated, before nodding.

"I was really worried about you, okay? I had a half mind to storm over there and drag you out myself. And when I got that call from Ms. Ackerman...well, I was really scared. I drove to the police station before I even woke up my mom up— that's how bad it was.

"I know it's selfish to keep you from your friends, and I don't want to control your life or make you think that _I_ think you're irresponsible, but...do me a favor and don't get arrested again? It'd make my life a lot easier."

She tentatively lifted the pillow from his face, giving him an expectant look. "Okay?"

Gil nodded. "Okay," he croaked.

If Gil didn't know better, he'd say that Liz was tearing up. "Goddammit," she muttered, before swooping in and kissing him on the forehead. "You're gonna kill me someday, Beilschmidt."

He reached his arms up and pulled her into a tight embrace. They stayed like that for a while, her head resting against his chest and his hand threading through her hair. She sniffled softly as his breathing slowed and he fell asleep. "Idiot."

* * *

The sunlight streamed through the window, striking Gil squarely in the face. He groaned, burying his face into the pillow. "Make it _stop_." Every muscle in his body felt sore, the throbbing in his head even more violent than the previous night's.

"Look alive, sunshine," Liz commanded, striding over and pulling the blankets off his crumpled form. "I'm making breakfast, and I expect you to be up and ready in ten."

"Food sounds nice," Gil mumbled groggily, rolling off the couch and clambering to his feet. Stretching his arms above his head, he grabbed a change of clothes and padded over to the bathroom.

After throwing on his jeans and t-shirt and brushing the bitter aftertaste of vodka from his teeth, he stumbled into the kitchen, where bacon and eggs were sizzling on the frying pan. He hummed in satisfaction, sidling over to Liz and slinging an arm around her shoulder. "Looking good, babe."

She stiffened, going pink. "Get your booze breath away from me."

"Really?" he said wryly, smirking. "You didn't seem to have a probably with it last night."

Liz made a strangled noise, swatting his arm away. "God, you're insufferable."

She scooped the food onto the plate and placed it on the table, Gil licking his lips and following her. He quickly devoured his meal, shoveling forkful after forkful of bacon into his ravenous mouth.

Idly spinning her spatula, Liz took a seat besides him, content to simply watch him slurp down his orange juice. Once he had finished, she hesitantly placed a hand on his. He glanced up at her. "Liz? You okay?"

"We need to figure out this Ludwig problem," she said quietly. "Ms. Ackerman told me he's not exactly thrilled. I know I said we should let it take its course-"

"But you don't want things to be awkward on Monday and me to totally hijack your house," he finished, letting out a sigh. "Yeah, I understand. It's just...I don't know what to do."

"Well, I think you should just apologize. You know, go up to him and say you're sorry." Liz suggested, choosing each word carefully. "If you're sincere, maybe he'll forgive you."

"I think I'd need to kiss the ground for that to happen." He groaned. "No thanks."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. It was a worth a shot, though."

They lapsed into uncomfortable silence.

"Maybe I should get him another present?"

"Nah. That's kinda tacky." She shook her head. "I think you should make meaningful gesture of some sort. Show him it was a just a mistake, and you're actually turning your life around."

"Okay, that sounds good. Any ideas?" he pressed her.

"No, not really," she confessed. "Just...think about it. I'm sure you can think of something."

"Yeah, right." Gil looked past her head to the windowsill, where a potted sunflower sat, its petals a bright golden and splayed open to face the light. It was warm and inviting, filling him with an inexplicable feeling of hope.

_Flowers?_

He stood up suddenly, his chair moving backwards with a screech. Liz looked up, startled. "Is something the matter, Gil?"

"Garden," he barely managed to croak.

The perplexed look melted off her face, replaced by a broad grin. "You're a goddamn _genius_."

* * *

"Hurry up and just come with me!" Liz wheedled, tugging at his arm. "I have a surprise for me!"

Ludwig sighed. "Can't this wait, Elizaveta? It's Saturday morning, I'm exhausted from you know what, and the new online privacy code isn't going to write itself, you know."

She puffed out her cheeks, pulling him forward even more insistently. "Oh, come on, that can wait! Live a little, Ludwig."

"You're starting to sound like Gilb—" He faltered, averting his eyes. "I...I guess I could take a little break."

"Yay! We're gonna have a great time." She grinned at him, hauling him out from behind the door. They began walking down the cracked pavement of the neighborhood, Liz talking animatedly and Ludwig grudgingly following along.

"Can you at least give me a hint?" Ludwig asked.

Her smile only widened. "It won't be a surprise if I tell you!"

"A hint, I said," he reminded her. "Is it legal?"

"Of course!" Liz laughed. "Student council members don't engage in illicit activities, after all. You made me chant that about a million times when you first brought me on, remember?"

"As clear as day," Ludwig sighed. "I mean, you're better at it than most _."_

"Well, I'm probably not as good as Roderich," she laughed. "His record is squeaky clean."

The grudging smile immediately melted off his face. She frowned, stopping and cocking her head to the side. "Is something wrong?"

"Oh...it's nothing." he said half-heartedly. "Please continue. I'm curious now, since you've built up all this suspense."

Although not all of her suspicions had been dropped, she reluctantly continued, making idle conversation with him for the remainder of the ten-minute walk. She brought up old student council jokes, he did his best to laugh convincingly, and all was well.

When she turned onto a block of her neighborhood that he didn't recognize, he pursed his lips, peering at the abandoned brick buildings. "Um, where are we? What could you possibly have to show me here?"

"Oh, just you wait." The mysterious smile was back on her face. "Ah, that reminds me: I need to blindfold you now." Without waiting for a response, she slipped behind him, tying a piece of cloth around his eyes and nose. "That comfortable?"

"Not particularly." He sounded resigned, most likely because he was used to her antics by now.

"Awesome." Liz took him by the arm, leading him forward. "I'm gonna take it off now, okay? Sound good?"

"I don't have a choice, do I?"

"Hush, you," she said distractedly, but he could hear the smile in her voice. "Okay...one, two, three!" Liz whipped the blindfold off, and for a moment, the sun was shining too brightly for him to see anything.

Gil was standing in the middle of rows upon rows of cabbages and dahlias and all sorts of flowers and vegetables in all shapes and sizes, a sign saying "I'm sorry?" hanging from his neck. He looked genuinely apologetic, a jittery smile on his face.

Ludwig lifted a hand to his mouth. "Oh my God, this amazing. I knew he'd been working hard on it, but..."

He slipped out of her grip, maneuvering around a row of daffodils to stand in front of Gil, who shrugged and held out a hand. "Can we try again?" Gil asked, gnawing at the inside of his cheek and glancing at Liz. She nodded encouragingly at him.

Ludwig took his head, shaking it firmly. "As long as you don't pull a stunt like that ever again. I was more terrified than angry, you know. What a blot on your record. Honestly, can you imagine what the colleges will think when they see you've been arrested for assaulting a—"

Liz tactfully chose that moment to burst into hysterical laughter, clutching her stomach as she fell to her knees and began howling. "Oh God, Lud," she said between gasps, "you are just too much. Just go ahead and do it!"

"Do wha—"

Gil was cut off when his brother wrapped his arms around him and pressed him to his chest. "Of course we can try again," he whispered, resting his chin on top of Gil's shock of white hair.


	20. Chapter 20

"You look like you need to break something," Gil noted, watching Liz wolf down cookie after cookie, her eyes smoldering with a sort of unnatural intensity.

She made a strangled noise through her mouthful of cookie. "Make it your face, and we're on."

"Easy there." He braced his hands in surrender. "How 'bout you tell me what's been goin' on?"

She glowered at him, but soon relented. "Okay, okay. It's just...I don't know. I've been super stressed lately, since finals are coming up, plus all the stuff with Roderich. He's just been ignoring me lately and spending all his time with Vash. Like, I know he has his own life and whatever, but it really hurts when you're being ditched for the millionth time."

Fucking Roderich. "Well, has he at least asked you to the spring formal?" he pressed.

Liz nodded, biting her lip. "Yeah. Super unromantically, though."

They fell into uncomfortable silence.

"You're really smart, and really pretty, and really funny, so I have no idea what he's thinking," Gil said sincerely, nearly surprising himself with his honesty. "What did he do, anyways? Go up to you during lunch and just ask?"

"Worse, actually," she said, cringing. "He sent me a text."

 _Ouch._ Gil grimaced, before being struck by an idea. "Well, just so you know, you deserve the best formal proposal ever." Before she could respond, he stood up, kneeling before her and taking her hand. "Just so you know, Liz, I'll always be here for you. You can talk to me about anything, anything at all."

She smiled reluctantly at him. "Yeah, I know."

* * *

Gil watched in contempt as a petite girl shrieked and jumped into her boyfriend's arms, bearing a ridiculously large bouquet of carnations. He laughed, spinning her around and planting a firm kiss on her lips.

"I really wish people would quit flaunting it," Gil complained to Antonio and Francis. "You know, for the single people here."

"Can't sympathize with you there," Antonio said nonchalantly. "I'm going with Bella for our month anniversary."

"And I'm going with Jeanne," Francis added. "The girl in our gym class?"

"The one who kicked your ass at tennis when we were freshmen?" Gil huffed enviously when his friend nodded. "Ugh, lucky bastard. Why am _I_ the only one without a date?"

A small yanked tugged at his hair. "Ow!" he exclaimed, turning around. "What was that for?"

Liz looked incredulously at him. "Wait, you don't have a date yet? Damn, Gil."

Francis and Antonio snickered, slipping back into the crowd. " _Buena suerte, amigo_ ," Antonio told him, with absolute sincerity.

He looked helplessly after them, before turning back to Liz. "Well, what do you expect me to do about it?"

"Oh, I don't know, man up and actually ask someone?"

"Yeah, but who?"

Liz pondered this for a moment. "What about Lili? I mean, she has a crush on you for some unfathomable reason or other."

"What on earth do you mean?" he gasped in mock hurt. "The ladies dig me!"

"Whatever you say." Liz rolled her eyes. "So yeah. She's been hoping for you to ask her out for a while, so she'll probably be kicking herself when she finds out that you want to go with her." She narrowed her eyes at him. "You _do_ want to go with her, right?"

He was a little unnerved by how deathly serious she sounded. "Yeah, of course. She's a great girl, and, um, it would be great to get to know her a bit better."

"Hmph." She narrowed her eyes at him. "Well, I'll tell her about it and help you get a tie later. You boys are hopeless when it comes to fashion."

Without waiting for a response, she patted him on the back and flounced off, looking far too pleased with herself.

He shook his head, exhaling through his nose. Girls were just too much.

* * *

"What do you think of this one?" Gil held up a dark green strapless dress, still recovering from the near heat stroke he'd suffered earlier. Even though it was only May, it was hot as balls out.

She shook her head emphatically. "No, no, no!" she clucked, snatching it out of his hands and putting it back on the rack. "It's just...I don't know. It's not right."

Gil threw his hands in the air. "You girls are impossible."

"And you boys are totally tactless," she snapped, earning herself a beady-eyed glare from the clerk. "It's just _not,_ okay? Do you want to ruin my night by forcing me into a puke green dress? We're making memories, Beilschmidt. _Memories._ You _cannot_ ruin this for me."

"Sheesh, you sure know how to lay on the guilt," he grumbled. "Fine. I'll find another one, then."

He heaved a sigh, sifting through the rack and pulling out an off-the-shoulder lilac dress. "How's this one?"

She brought it to her eye, meticulously examining its silky ruffles. "Huh. Not bad," she grudgingly admitted, holding it up to her neck. "I should go try it on."

Arms laden with potential dress selections, she breezed into the dressing room, leaving Gil to sigh and sit on a nearby bench. Shopping with girls really was a pain; couldn't they just pick one and leave?

"That's quite the girlfriend you have there," one of the store's employees said with a grin, folding a pile of pink t-shirts. "How long have you two been dating?"

"Oh no, we're just friends. She drags me shopping with her and I try to clean up the mess she leaves behind."

She giggled, arranging the clothes into a neat display. "Well, you're quite the gentleman. If only my boyfriend were as patient as you. God knows how much easier it would make things for me."

"Well, I've had a lot of experience. I spend most of my waking hours being pushed around by her." He shrugged, tracing a finger over the flower print fabric of a sundress. "It kind of comes in the job description of being a girl's friend."

"What was that?" Liz snapped, the dressing room door swinging open.

"We were just-" He turned around, before catching sight of Liz.

And, for the first time in his life, he was struck speechless.

"Uh, wow, Liz," he managed, with complete sincerity. "You look...great." Great hardly described how she looked, even without excessive amounts of makeup and an elaborate hairstyle. Tendrils of sweaty hair were plastered to her forehead and her flip flops hardly matched the outfit, but all that just seemed to accentuate her beauty.

Wait...beauty?

But yes. She was beautiful, and there was no shame in admitting it.

"Yeah, this one is nice," she said reluctantly, peering at the skirt. "Think I should just get it?"

"Since when have you asked me for my opinion?" he quipped, laughing at the sharp look she gave him. "Just kidding. But yeah, you look amazing."

"You really mean it?" Her eyes lit up, and the look of pure delight on her face couldn't have made him any happier.

"Totally." Gil flashed her a thumbs-up.

* * *

Just as they were leaving the boutique, shopping bag in tow, Liz stopped, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Um, could you give me a sec? There's one more thing I'd like to check out."

"Okay, that's fine." He tried to double back, but she stopped him once more.

"Alone, please," she insisted, a conspiratorial little smile spreading across her face.

Uh-oh. That definitely meant trouble. Gil raised an eyebrow. "Should I be worried?"

"No, no, not at all," she said cheerfully, ushering him out the door and to a park bench across the street, depositing a handful of quarters into his pocket. "Buy yourself an ice cream while you're at it."

"Um, thanks?" he managed, baffled. "Can you at least give me a hint? You're really starting to freak me out."

"Oh, hush," Liz chided, giving him a little wave as she headed back to the shop. "You'll see soon enough!"

Gil heaved a sigh, jangling the change in his object and approaching the nearest ice cream shop. "Two lemon sherbets, please?"

By the time the guy had handed him his ice creams, already melting in their waffle cones, Liz was impatiently waiting for him back at the park bench, an additional package in her lap. "Oh, you're too sweet," she simpered, accepting the cone with a grin. "Now, ready to see your surprise?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," he grumbled, handing his cone to her and taking the package, meticulously unwrapping the paper. Inside was a crimson tie, glimmering beneath the plastic covering.

Liz smiled smugly at him. "I figured you wouldn't have the sense to match your tie with Lili's dress, so I went and bought one for you! Consider it payment in kind for your Christmas gift." She lifted her wrist up, exposing the delicate silver beads. "Up top?"

He laughed, bumping his bracelet against hers. "You really are the greatest."

* * *

"Yo, Liz! Where you at?" Gil shouted into his cellphone. He, Lili, his friends, and their dates were already gathered in his front yard, waiting for Roderich and Liz to show up. "The limo ain't gonna pay itself, you know!"

"Oh, quit being such a brat," she said venomously. "You think it's my fault that he hasn't showed up yet?"

"Well, is there any way you can get him to hurry up?" he retorted, glancing at his watch. "We'll be late if we wait any longer. If you don't get here pronto, we're leaving."

"That's fine with me," Liz huffed. "Sure, blame my date not showing up on _me._ " Before he could even begin to protest, she had already hung up. Gil just sighed and snapped his phone shut.

"Is Lizzie okay?" Lili said worriedly, looking absolutely adorable in her sleeveless dress that, true to what Liz had told him, matched his tie perfectly. "I know she's been really nervous about Roderich lately, so-"

"Nothing you need to worry about," he interrupted, giving her a playful poke on the nose and feeling immensely pleased when she flushed a deep pink. "Roderich is just being a dick as always, so we should probably just get going without her. We can catch up with them once we're there."

"Woohoo! Party time!" Antonio cheered, looking sharp in a tuxedo and a baby blue tie. Bella laughed in response, and he grinned crookedly, dipping her and planting a firm kiss on the lips.

"Oi, lovebirds! Save it for the bedroom," Francis laughed, exchanging a look with Jeanne.

 _Should I kiss her?_ Gil thought, glancing over at Lili. Admittedly, she looked absolutely incredible, her lips plumped with lip gloss and hair done in a simple bun that curled at the base of her neck. But even so, the thought of kissing her made him feel inexplicably queasy; all he could imagine was Liz in her dress, beaming at him in the boutique.

He shook his head to clear his head. What the hell was he thinking? "Alright, losers! Let's go!"

* * *

Liz knocked on her boyfriend's door, biting her lip and bouncing on the balls of her feet. "Roderich? You there? We're gonna be late if you hang around there any longer." When he did not respond, she tried the doorknob, surprised to find that the door had been left unlocked.

Liz sighed, pushing it open and stepping into his living room. "Roderich, I'm serious, I know you weren't all that excited about going, but you should really—" She stumbled back in shock, her purse falling to the ground with a thud.

Her boyfriend and Vash were kissing. Honest-to-goodness _kissing_. Entwined together on his couch, it looked as if it would take the hand of God himself to tear them apart. And the worst part? Roderich looked more content than he ever had in a year of dating her.

They sprang apart. "Liz!" Roderich exclaimed, as stunned as she had ever seen him. "What are you doing here? I thought we were meeting at—"

"I-I'll just go," she stammered, spinning around and nearly tripping over her heels in a mad dash to _go, go, go._ All coherent thought was purged from her mind as she ran, ran, ran, wanting nothing more than to be home, far away from anything that could possibly hurt her.

The grin of a certain white-haired idiot popped in her mind, but she shoved the thought away immediately, too overcome by her own misery to think of him. He was happy tonight, and would definitely be wearing that goofy grin, surrounded by his closest friends and with Lili on his arm, radiantly happy. The two people she loved more than anything, finally with people who truly deserved their love and companionship.

And what of her? Ditched and degraded and kicked into the mud, what could she do but envy them? Envy their shining happiness while she wallowed in her despair, in the hurt of not being _wanted_ , of being betrayed.

Liz wiped a tear away from her eye, stopping to catch her breath and press her forehead to a nearby tree, stifling a choking sob.

_What the hell is wrong with me?_

* * *

Sampling a cheese cube from a waiter's tray, Gil bobbed up and down to the beat of the softly playing music, scanning the crowd for a glimpse of Liz. Unable to find her, he looked dejectedly back to the ground, crushed by disappointment.

"Um, I'm sure Lizzie will turn up soon!" Lili assured him. "It's probably some sort of Roderich-related problem. We've dealt with a lot of those lately."

"Yeah, no kidding," he mumbled, keeping his eyes cast on the ground.

They lapsed into uncomfortable silence.

"You and Lizzie are really close, aren't you?" she blurted out.

He snapped back to attention, laughing sheepishly. "Um, sort of? We're childhood friends, you know. It's sort of our job to look after one another."

Lili just giggled. "Um, so...want me to get you a drink? Apparently Mrs. Carson makes a killer fruit punch. We should probably get some before the drink station gets totally swamped."

"Sounds like a good plan," he said absentmindedly, before spotting Roderich milling at the corner of the dance floor, Liz nowhere to be found. Where the hell did that girl disappear off to? "I'll see you in a bit, then?"

"Uh-huh. Stay right there." She flashed him a thumbs-up, hiking up her skirt and scurrying off in the direction of the drink table.

Once she had disappeared, he sighed in relief, standing on tip-toe in his search for Liz. Still, she was nowhere in sight. Gil watched as Vash approached Roderich, taking his hand and leaning in over—

Wait, did that mean—

_Oh, hell no._

Blood boiling with unbridled fury, Gil shouldered his way through the crowd, stomping over to Roderich and looming over him.

Roderich eyed him warily. "Is there something wrong, Beilschmidt?"

Gil let his actions to speak for themselves. Arm lashing out, he grabbed the good-for-nothing bastard by the collar, eliciting gasps from nearby partygoers.

"Where the hell is Liz?" Gil growled. Vash made a move to stop him, but Roderich held out a pacifying hand.

He seemed completely unfazed. "Well, how should I know? I'm not her mother."

"What do you mean? You're her fucking boyfriend!" he snarled. "And you've been fucking around with him this entire time?"

"It's none of your business," Roderich spat.

"Like hell it isn't!" Gil snarled. "She wasted an entire year on you, asshole!"

"I never forced her to do anything," he said calmly.

"Is that all you have to say for yourself?" Gil asked scathingly. When he got no reply, he scoffed. "God, you're such a piece of shit. You never deserved her anyway." He shoved Roderich onto the ground, turning sharply on his heel and heading for the exit, nothing but Liz in his mind. Even when Lili approached him and offered his drink, asking where he had gone, he brushed her off, quashing the guilt that rose at the hurt look on her face.

He could apologize later.

Right now, there were more pressing matters to take care of.

* * *

Before, she had laughed over girls who cried over break-ups, locked themselves up in their rooms and pigged out on cookie dough ice cream to eat away the pain. Funny enough, that was exactly what she was doing now.

Roderich had never loved her. She had wasted so much time on him, going on dates, imagining their future together, stressing out when he didn't pay attention to her. And all for nothing.

Liz smashed a pillow into her face, and sobbed.

"Lizzie? Sweetheart, tell me what's wrong," Katarina implored her. "Please open the door." Her mother suddenly fell silent, save for a period of low muttering. Before she could sigh in relief, however, the door swung open.

And standing there was Gil, bobby pin in hand. He looked absolutely horrible, a mirror of what she probably looked like: windswept, distraught, weirdly feral. "Gil?" she gasped. "What are you doing here? Where's Lili?"

Ignoring her questions, he strode over to her and hugged her, holding her tight. He felt strong, warm, _just there—_ which was more than Roderich had ever been for her. Gil was as solid as a rock, anchoring her down to reality, keeping the waves of sadness from sweeping her away.

She began to sob into his chest, clinging onto him tight.

"I'm here, I'm here," he assured her, rocking her back and forth. "It's okay."

And for a moment, she believed it truly was.


	21. Chapter 21

"Gil?" Liz breathed as he released her, eyes brimming with tears. "I'm so sorry you had to come here, but you really didn't—" She made a muffled noise of protest when he leaned in to kiss her.

He was giving her all of him, pressing his chest to hers, threading his fingers through her hair. Every fiber of her being was singing his praises, thrumming with his _there_ -ness, so why, she thought numbly, couldn't she kiss him back? Why was she so paralyzed?

The image of Roderich kept popping up in her mind, mocking her. And suddenly, she felt like she was suffocating, because Gil, his very touch sending little sparks shivering up and down her spine, was everything Roderich never was.

So why did she feel so _empty_? Like it could never be enough?

Liz pushed him away, casting her eyes down. "Please go," she choked out, unable to look at him.

"Liz, I—"

She definitely didn't want him to finish that thought. "Just _go_."

* * *

It took every ounce of her courage to go to school next day, to hold her head high and greet her peers, look Gil and Vash and Lili in the eye and pretend like nothing was wrong. Even as she swept her papers into her bag and marched from class to class, she could feel the scrutiny of her classmates weighing down on her, boring into her until she felt as if her defenses had been stripped away.

"Um, hey," Gil said, approaching her desk once the final bell had rang. "Ready to go to club?"

She gave him a tight-lipped smile. "Of course. Our last meeting, right? Somehow, I'm a lot more sad than I expected to be."

"Totally," he agreed. "We had some pretty good times. Also, Natalya is actually a pretty cool kid."

They fell into content silence.

Gil took a deep breath, reaching a hand into his pocket and pulling out a piece of paper. "I...Roderich told me to give this to you. It's fine if you don't want to me to read it, but—"

"No," she said sharply, reaching for his hand. He jumped at the sudden contact. "Please stay. It's just...can we go somewhere more private?"

Gil let her guide him her to a secluded corner of the hallway, tucked right between the water fountain and the girls' bathroom. "Liz, are you okay?" he prodded, brow furrowing in concern. "'Cause if you don't want to—"

"What did I tell you?" Liz snapped. "Let's do this." Her hands trembling, she smoothed out the crinkles in the note, holding it out for the both of them to read.

_Dear Elizaveta,_

_I'm so sorry for what happened last night. I figured I've lied to you enough, so here's the truth:_

_You've probably heard the rumors, but near the end of sophomore year, Vash and I confessed our feelings for one another at the party. Truth be told, it was one of the best moments of my life. For that one moment, I felt free, like I didn't have to hide anymore, like what everyone else thought didn't matter._

_I was sure nothing could keep us apart anymore, but I was so wrong: some_ _drunk freshman girl had overheard the entire thing, and pretty soon, she was spreading rumors about me and Vash. I started to panic— I was just starting to come to terms with being gay, and I was terrified of what people would think of me._ _But I knew people were skeptical— after all, who really trusts the testimonial of a drunk underclassman? To make it go away, all I had to do was disprove the rumors and ask a girl out. We were close friends and you seemed to like me, so it seemed like an obvious choice._

_I swear I never meant for it to drag on this long._ _Each month, I'd tell myself that I was finally gonna be honest with you and break it off, but I always ended up chickening out. After a year, though, I was finally done: tired of the charade,_ _of living a lie, denying who I really was. As relieved I am now to be telling the truth, I feel incredibly guilty for wasting your time and hurting you and all of the other people I love. Words cannot express how truly sorry I am— I just hope that you can forgive me._

_Your friend,_

_Roderich Edelstein_

Liz looked absolutely stunned as she lowered the paper.

"Want me to beat the shit out of him?" Gil offered. When her cheek did not so much twitch in response, he sighed. "God, he seriously expects you to just forgive him? After everything he put you through?"

She shook her head, casting her eyes to the ground. "You're right. There's no way things could go back to normal between us. But I don't want to be angry at him anymore."

"Doesn't mean we can't prank still him!"' he exclaimed. "I've come up with a few good ideas over the years."

Liz cracked a reluctant smile. "Thanks for your support, Gil, but he's not worth the effort. I'm just happy that he can be himself now, and just be with Vash. Yeah, I'm a little hurt that he went along with it for so long, but…I'll get over it."

Gil smiled fondly at her. "You're a really good person, you know that, right?"

"And you're really good at compliments,"Liz quipped, and laced his arm through hers. "Come you, idiot— let's go have some fun."

* * *

"It is with a heavy heart that I welcome you to the final meeting of this year's Oyster Club," Ms. Braginski said, looking as if she wanted nothing more than to burst into tears and run out the door. "I don't think I'm just speaking for myself when I say how much I've grown over the past year after spending time with all of you wonderful people. We've had our ups and downs, sure, but it's always been one big, happy blur."

Natalya rolled her eyes at the overload of cheese, exchanging a look with Feliks.

"And so, I'd like to end the year by making bracelets for one another. I have colored string and different beads so you can spell out each other's names. Try to make as many as possible, for all those who gave touched your life during the course of this entire year. We'll have a bracelet ceremony at the end of our meeting to give them away and tell everyone what they mean to you," Ms. Braginski said breathlessly, motioning for Liz to pass out the supplies. "Have fun, everyone!"

"And I thought it wasn't possible for her to get anymore hippie," Gil whispered when she arrived at his desk, his stomach fluttering at the sight of her smile— the most genuine one he had seen all day.

_What the hell is wrong with me?_

Trying to ignore the feeling, he fumbled for a length of magenta hemp and spelled L-I-Z out with the neon beads. Tying the ends together, he quickly proceeded to the next bracelet, dreading how much effort it would take to spell out "Natalya."

A half an hour later, Ms. Braginski coughed delicately into her fist. "And that's time, ladies and gentlemen!"

"Can I go first?" Feliks piped up, waving his hand in the air.

"Um, if you insist," Ms. Braginski laughed, beckoning him forward. "Let's hear it."

Ambling to the front of the room, he first held up an intricate bracelet woven with alternating strings of black and purple. "For Natalya Braginski. Even though we fought all the time, you were such a good friend to me. We teased one another in good fun, gave each other fashion tips, and all in all, had a fabulous time whenever we were together. Words can't express the vast platonic affection I feel towards you."

Natalya raised an eyebrow at him. "Gee, thanks."

"Ah, ah, I'm not finished!" he chided. Ignoring the baffled looks everyone was sending his way, he strode over to her and bent down on one knee, holding the bracelet like it was a diamond ring. "Natalya Braginski, will you...go to prom with me?"

She cupped her hands over her mouth. "Oh...my...shit."

"Language, Natalya," Ms. Braginski chastised, barely suppressing her smile.

"Yes!" she shrieked, practically tackling him to the ground. "Yes, yes!"

"Wow, very platonic," Gil quipped, exchanging an eye roll with Liz.

One by one they all went, the ceremony interrupted only by a collective gasp of shock as Heracles and Sadiq grudgingly exchanged stringy bracelets (as innocent as she was trying to look, Ms. Braginski had definitely put them up to it), until it was Liz's turn.

She took a deep breath, and shuffled to the front of the room, a fistful of bracelets in hand. "Um, okay, so the first one goes to Alfred. You were such a fun and friendly presence in the club, and you always brightened my day." She tossed a red, white, and blue bracelet in his direction, beaming when he pumped his fist in the air and immediately put it on. "The second to Arthur for...being his usual charming self. Your cooking was truly spectacular." She handed him a mint green bracelet strung with a bunny charm.

Somehow, within a forty-five minute period, she had managed to make every single member of the club a bracelet, including Ms. Braginski, who tearfully accepted hers with a blubbering thank you and a big bear hug.

"And, last but not least," she paused to take a deep breath, "Gil. Oh God, where to begin? As many of you know, Gil and I didn't exactly get off to the best start. We were still bitter from an old middle school grudge, and definitely weren't interested in playing nice. But as time went by, we really started to grow on one another. Through all the hard times, we've been each other's confidantes, shoulders to cry on and hands to hold. When I was down because of some petty problem in my life, he picked me up off the ground and told me to keep my chin up. Sure, we were nagging and yelling at each other more often than not, but in the process, he's just become so dear to me. Our differences only made our friendship stronger, made us change us in ways we never could've expected. God knows that I thank him for it every day."

Liz threw the bracelet to him, and smirked. "Oh, and Gil? Try not to let that get to your head."

As he closed his palm over the crimson beads, he was fighting back tears. "No promises."

* * *

When the last Oyster Club meeting had finally commenced, Ms. Braginski tearfully hugging them all goodbye, the members of the club slowly filed out, Liz and Gil at the very back. They ambled out of the classroom, in no rush to leave.

"Wow, I can't believe I've graduated from delinquency now," he quipped. "Don't I at least get a diploma?"

She rolled her eyes. "Well, I'm the one who had to babysit you guys for an entire fucking year."

"Funny you say that," he said coyly, "considering how much you seemed to enjoying yourself back there. What was it you said, about not being able to live without me?"

"Oh, stop putting words in my mouth!" Liz batted him on the forearm, before stopping in front of a row of lockers. "About that...um, can we talk about the kiss last night?"

Gil froze, and tried to brush it off with a laugh. "Oh, um, I was hoping you wouldn't mention that. Look, I know it was out of line—"

"No, no, it's not that," she said hurriedly. "It's just that, you made me realize something.

"What?" He arched an eyebrow at her. "Don't leave me hanging here."

 _Uh-oh_ , he thought. _Here it comes. The "I only like you as a friend" part._

"I was getting to that!" she exclaimed, clearly frantic. "What I'm trying to say is that the kiss, it made me that I...really like you." Once the words had gotten out, she pressed her fingers to her lips in disbelief, like even she couldn't believe what she was saying.

His jaw went slack. "You what? Like, as in...non-platonic liking?"

Liz nodded hastily, flushing herself. "I like you," she repeated, in a daze. "I spent so much time chasing after Roderich that I couldn't take a step back and see what was so obvious. You were always there for me when I needed you. You always made me smile or laugh. You were all the things I was looking for; I was just too stupid to see it.

"So," she faltered, smiling bashfully. "Could we maybe try again?"

"Does that mean I can kiss you?" he blurted out, before he had the good sense not to. Because, in all honesty, wasn't this what they'd been building up to for more than ten years?

Gil had fallen in love with her determination, her strength, her stubbornness. It was the tiniest things, too, how she twirled her hair between her fingertips, the way she bit her lip, her warm fragrance of vanilla and cinnamon, the little dimple on her cheek when she smiled. He could recall every line and crease on her face, the fuzzy feeling in his heart whenever she laughed, her arms thrown around him, how when they were together, he felt so completely whole.

_So this is what love is like, hm?_

"I give you that huge, uber-romantic speech, and that's the best you can manage?" she groaned, shaking her head mournfully. "God, guys are the worst. A love confession is generally an invitation to—"

His lips were on hers before she could even finish, one hand on her hip and the other threading through her hair. She sighed and wound her arms around his neck, deepening the kiss until it was less bruising and desperate, more slow and deep and passionate.

After all, they had all the time in the world.

Well, until someone in front of them cleared their throat.

Gil and Liz sprung apart immediately, flushing tomato red.

"I totally fucking knew it," Arthur said with a vicious grin, looking expectantly at Alfred. "I believe you owe me a shiny twenty dollar bill?" Alfred made a strangled noise, reluctantly forking it over. "Oh, and lovebirds? Please do your canoodling somewhere a bit more private. God knows no one wants to see you two pawing at each other like two mangy mutts during breeding season."

With that, he turned on his heels and sauntered away, his cousin scurrying after him.

Gil and Liz glanced at one another, still breathless.

"Say we find somewhere a little more private," Liz said.

"Yes, please."

* * *

They lay side-by-side on a tiny beach towel, listening to the cicadas chirp and watching as the sun set, dewy grass tickling their faces.

Liz turned to her side and pressed her face into his button-down shirt, stained with a dribble of ketchup from their impromptu picnic. Entangling her feet with his, she breathed in his smell, musky and sweaty and just so _him._

"I'm not sure how much I like this intimacy thing," he said quietly, stirring her out of her thoughts. "I mean, I don't want things between us to change, just because we're-" He fumbled for the word.

"Dating?" she offered.

"I guess?"

"Is this your not-so-subtle way of asking me out?"

He grinned, obviously relieved. "Can it be? I mean, that makes things way easier on my part. But, if this–" he gestured to their legs, the sky, the shared towel, "—wasn't clear enough, well...are you free next Sunday?"

She swatted him playfully on the shoulder. "Yes, dumbass. Oh, and about the intimacy thing...I'm not the most touchy-feely person, you know? Especially with guys—excluding Feli, of course, but...yeah, it's hard. You're the first person I've kissed in a while, and I'm still coping with the Roderich thing, so I guess I'm just testing my boundaries? Feast whilst the senses still hunger and all of that."

He nodded solemnly, brushing the hair from her forehead.

"It's just that...you're so much more than I could have hoped for. I mean, we're so physically close right now I can barely see your face, but that's okay, 'cause...I think that makes us even closer. Like, figuratively. All this time, I saw Roderich for the person he pretended to be, but with you...well, everything's just so _clear_."

"Not that I'm not devilishly handsome," he quipped.

"Of course. But that's just one of your admirable qualities."

"I'm liking where this conversation's going." He grinned cheekily. "Tell me more about my admirable qualities."

She laughed lightly. "Well, for one...you're great at keeping promises."

He looked incredulously at her. "Whoa, you actually remembered that? We made that promise, like, _forever_ ago."

"Well, duh. I was a _hopeless_ romantic back then."

They lapsed into quiet contentment.

"So...am I still holding to my promise?" he blurted out.

Liz didn't have to ask what he meant. "Yeah. Totally." She intertwined her fingers in his, pressing their foreheads together. "A fairytale ending, just like you said."

Gil, being the self-aggrandizing idiot he was, just had to correct her. " _Our_ happy ending."

* * *

**A/N: AH FIFTEEN MONTHS LATER AND I'M FINALLY DONE!**

**Anyways, thank you to all of my loyal readers who stuck by this story from the very beginning! It couldn't have been easy, considering what an erratic updater I am, but I'm so grateful to you all for coming along this wonderful journey with me. I hope you enjoyed it!**


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